


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by RaeAnne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Storybrooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeAnne/pseuds/RaeAnne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold is known as a vicious businessman that those that are in times of greatest need go to. He fixes problems and cuts losses. Belle is a shop owner in a little Maine town, their paths are about to cross. Can this ruthless businessman do what needs to be done, or will this little shop owner be the one problem, the one deal he just can't make? All in Storybrooke, plenty of nods to canon, somewhat inspired by the movie Up in the Air</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crocodile

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya :) I am in the process of moving the majority of my work from ff.net here and I thought I'd working on bringing the OUaT behemoth, that is this story... It's in progress, but there are 16 chapters to start with, 17 is nearly finished. I hope you enjoy!!

 Chapter 1: Crocodile 

Mr. Gold liked his job. He was exceptionally good at his job. It wasn't a job a lot of people liked and in fact he thought perhaps only second to lawyers his job was one of the least liked. The people who hired him called him a 'fixer'; others however called him things with fewer letters.

His job was money. Saving money predominately. Saving companies money by downsizing their employees and bringing in more automated processes or moving production oversees, more precisely. He had an office of nearly a hundred people now, he no longer dealt hands on with the downsizing process but at one point he did. Now he has his protégé/partner specialize in that aspect of the job, but nevertheless he has become known as Dougal "Crocodile" Gold, as he was as cold blooded, deceptively quiet and wickedly brutal when striking, as a crocodile. His smile too, he knew people liked to compare to the aquatic reptile. Or perhaps it was simply because he had a penchant for crocodile skin boots, but he was doubtful of that one.

His job was a nasty bit of business unfortunately, or fortunately if you looked at it from his perspective, for many people, and he was strikingly good at it. Businesses that came to him were usually desperate, usually in debt, usually ready to give anything to have their worries solved and Mr. Gold was always the man to do it. He negotiated deals with boards, banks, governments when required and overseas identities of all kinds. There was not a deal Mr. Gold could not make and companies paid more than handsomely for it.

Baelfire Consulting did far more than fire people but it was rather what they were most notorious for and after all it had been Mr. Gold's first job. He was nineteen working a summer job in a finance firm and was requested to fire a co-worker that their boss was too yellow to fire himself. A scant six months later Mr. Gold was replacing that boss, and thus Mr. Gold's brainchild was born, making a business out of someone being cowardly. Procuring and delivering miracles, wishes, and deals to the desperate…for his hefty, hefty fee. "All magic comes at a cost, dearie" he was fond of saying darkly when a client would remark his work was next to magical.

He was looking over the large summary collected file on a more recent a client, more specifically a money pit, a miniscule business represented as a red figure in the overall in-the-red conglomerate owned by this particular client. It was a small bookstore in a small town, Storybrooke, Maine called My Father's Shop. It had been an oddity purchase by a now nearly bankrupt millionaire Rupert Gaston. The store hadn't turned any sizable profit that Mr. Gold could see going back 10+ years. This didn't surprise him and he wasn't even sure why he was spending his time looking at the details of the story, it was clearly an easy sell-off for the floundering Gaston. He had already amassed a list of recommendations in property sell-offs, business downsizing, and business sell offs. He ruefully thought Gaston rather deserved this current plight, as he was a simply horrid businessman, a worse money manager and over all a brat man-child that believed his good looks and 'suave' personality would ensure his every want and need.

Perhaps it was because he disliked this particular client so deeply much that he was taking a good deal of it on personally. He didn't really even need to handle any of the clients now, his business was booming and it had much drifted from it's purely downsizing roots – thought it was still a great deal of his business. He had teams of accountants, analysts, lawyers, brokers and the like at his disposal, he was superfluous as he well knew but Mr. Gold was not an idle ma, he despised the very idea of it.

So, to keep himself busy and to pick the mind of this oily client Mr. Gold sat well into the night reading with bemused fascination the paper trails of a spendthrift playboy.

The town of Storybrooke didn't come up in a Google search, which Mr. Gold found wildly intriguing. The shop, My Father's Shop, had a very interesting purchasing history. Obviously the majority of purchasing was books – new, used, rare, New York Time's Best Sellers, some he had never even heard of. There were purchases of antique tea services now and again along with newer but still traditional ones. Coffee and tea along with the standard accouterments for such – it was also a tea and coffee house, he mused.

It employed two people. Belle French, the former owner and Emma Nolan, clerk. Through further research and digging through carefully filed boxes he came up with more history of this fascinating little shop. Moe French, presumably the 'father', had first conceived it as a flower shop but quickly ran it into the ground by what was very clear to Mr. Gold as outrageous spending and a very obvious ignorance of exactly how cash flow worked. Moe French took out a series of high interest loans and made an impressive myriad of bad decisions nearly losing the business to foreclosure.

Enter Belle French, now confirmed daughter. With little credit of her own, but of good standing she appeared to take over the business reinventing it as a bookshop. He's curious from where she gets the stock for this as there are no records of any purchases in the first year but there are sales. Though the bookstore does break even and even starts to show a little profit it never does well enough to keep up with the loan payments and such. 18 months previously the storefront, the business and its debt, was auctioned to the highest bidder.

Rupert Gaston. It's at this point in the history Mr. Gold has put together that he begins to scratch his head. Gaston left the business just as it was with no changes; in fact he begins to sink money of his own into it. There are bills for renovations and updates and even advertising that baffles Mr. Gold. He could have seen perhaps purchasing the property, liquidating any assets to clear the debt then try to put in a more profitable business, or just renting the space but Gaston bought the property and business in all and tried, though exceedingly badly, to save it. But not a single loan was paid off or even caught up; it was still in the negative, which he didn't understand in the slightest.

Mr. Gold understood that men of means had a penchant for lost cause businesses, why they did he couldn't fathom, but he knew they did but why in the world didn't Gaston cut his losses with this ramshackle blip at the very beginning of all the other failures in the Gaston Enterprises? What was special about  _this_ shop?


	2. Possession

**Chapter 2: Possession**

Rupert Gaston was waiting in the conference room his secretary told him. Mr. Gold was glad, for Gaston's sake that he was on time. He loathed tardiness and had no tolerance for people who disrespected his time. He palmed his silver knobbed cane that rested against his dark cherry wood desk and moved quietly across the steel grey plush carpet to the door.

Baelfire Consulting was a fifteen-story building with an underground garage in the heart of Boston, Massachusetts. It gleamed black steel and dark tinted glass with severe angles. Mr. Gold's private office, his secretary and a large conference room he had for his sole use were resident on the top floor. He crossed from his office, graceful in spite of the obvious limp and entered the conference room. At the center of the large room was a cherry wood, which was used throughout the building, table polished to a high gleam. There were no fingerprints in Mr. Gold's presence. High back black leather chairs, 30 in total, surrounded the oval table the tallest backed chair sitting at the head.

"Mr. Gaston," he stated dryly in way of greeting. The man was in his mid thirties, dark hair worn, in what Mr. Gold considered to be an unfashionably long style and he wore his own hair to his collar, dark eyes and a tanned complexion. He had overheard the younger females of his staff comment on Gaston's looks enough to know that they found him supremely attractive. Mr. Gold himself was wholly unimpressed.

"Mr. Gold!" Gaston rather leapt from the chair with a surprising sense of frivolity considering he was nearly bankrupt and Mr. Gold was ferociously glaring at him.

He was sitting in his chair and that was unacceptable.

Gaston must have sensed that something was wrong from the very pointed and icy stare he was being given but in testament to his obvious dimwittedness it took a full thirty seconds and an open mouth that was about to ask who peed in the man's corn flakes before realizing his error. He put the hand he was about to extended in greeting to Mr. Gold hastily back into the pocket of his cream colored suit trousers and took another seat at the left of the one he had been sitting in.

Mr. Gold sat with only the barest hint of the discomfort his knee was causing him and turned his dark gaze to his client.

"Mr. Gaston, I asked you here today to talk about one of the businesses you purchased a little over a year ago. A bookshop called My Father's Shop, do you recall this?"

Gaston's greening at the gills told Mr. Gold he very well did, the shifting in the chair also told him that whatever means the purchase came about from were certainly either shady, embarrassing or both.

"Yes…yes, I bought the business a while ago."

Mr. Gold gave a low sarcastic completely Scottish sound in the back of his throat and gripped the edge of the table, "I'm aware, I want to know why."

Gaston further greened and became fascinated with something out the surrounding glass windows over Mr. Gold's shoulder.

"Well, it was going to be a wedding present…" Gaston trailed.

Mr. Gold fought to keep from closing his eyes in exasperation. "Are you being purposely evasive Mr. Gaston?"

Gaston's eyes jerk to the older man scowling, "Look Mr. Gold I know I should be grateful you're taking on my case personally but I really don't see that I owe you an explanation for it."

Mr. Gold was still for several heartbeats, which were admittedly very rapid and shallow if you were counting by Gaston's. Mr. Gold's face slowly broke into a smile; it was neither humorous nor kind. It was sinister and foreboding.

When he spoke it was barely above a whisper, "Mr. Gaston, there is a reason I am good at my job, there is also a reason they call me The Crocodile and it isn't because I'm warm and fuzzy and used to not getting exactly what I want. The mere fact you came to me looking to save you and your dwindling trust fund means that everyone else failed or turned you down… Don't," Mr. Gold paused holding up a hand, "Don't bothering trying to dispute that, I knew all about you before my company took you on. It's my business, knowing things. If I want to know why you bought this business you'll tell me. If I want to know the name of your grade school teacher, you'll tell me. If I want to know what you ate for breakfast or how old you were when you stopped wetting the bed, you'll tell me. You'll tell me if you want to save any of your profligate lifestyle."

The unsaid motivation and answer as to exactly why Gaston would be answering all these questions, besides the fact Mr. Gold was indeed the last resort for people such as Gaston was that Gaston had a contract with Mr. Gold, a very heavily favorable contract, favorable to Mr. Gold especially if Gaston failed to cooperate fully with him.

Gaston paled, losing even the green tint he had had about him, he was now just a ghostly white. Gaston gripped the arms of his chair, fingers turning white with the effort. He turned his cool green eyes to Mr. Gold in a mix of fury and desperate humiliation.

My Father's Shop was a deeply personal purchase for him Mr. Gold plainly saw and was all the more intrigued.

"You're not going to tell me are you Mr. Gaston?" his tone was sickly sweet and sardonic.

Gaston stiffened and lifted his head in a valiant show of bravado. "If I must, I must." He shrugged.

Mr. Gold thought as much and there was a smile turning the corner of his mouth churlishly as he nodded for Gaston to proceed with his story.

* * *

Mr. Gold was titillated even further by Gaston's halting tale. Who wouldn't be? It had all the trappings of a Grimm fairytale! The braw fair maiden, the dastardly attempt of rescue by the hero left wanting from the even more spendthrift maiden's father. It was one horrifying misstep after another.

Gaston had evidently vacationed in the sleepy little town in Maine as a child every summer with his family until he was 15, the family that ran the bed & breakfast had a little girl about his age named Belle, Gaston found her in equal measures at different times in his youth repulsive and captivating.

By mere fluke he ran into Belle French in college, well a college mixer. She went to NYU and he Princeton. She remembered him and disliked him. Called him arrogant, self-centered, and egotistical to the nth degree, to sum it up, the last person on Earth she'd considered dating.

Gaston needed no more to be smitten and attempted to woo her endlessly as he always liked a challenge.

It was somewhere in their final year of college that Gaston let the story go hazy, he had succeeded in wooing Ms. French, Mr. Gold clearly surmised as they had become engaged at some point in the proceedings. Indeed as a wedding present apparently Gaston had purchased the family business to surprise his intended. Or so Gaston presented but apparently the good Ms. French took umbrage to the gesture of being bought and controlled, Mr. Gold knew Gaston well enough to fill in the blanks the man had left out. Oh yes, Mr. Gold knew Gaston's type all too well and he could write the tale quite well, even if Gaston persisted in leaving out details.

Mr. Gold having extracted all the information he felt he would from Gaston sent him away, Gaston needed only the barest of hints to vacate. So Mr. Gold was left to his thoughts. He turned his tall imposing chair to the floor to ceiling smoke grey windows looking out over the Boston skyline pink and orange with an early fall sunset steepling his fingers listlessly.

He was simply taken with this story. He wanted to see this town, meet this Ms. French, meet the father painted the sad sack, money ignorant, possible drunk, cowardly man that by means of his incompetence all but let his daughter, her reputation, and the family business be sold, to in fact the highest bidder.

Mr. Gold knew indeed he had a sour outlook on most things but he had a knack for seeing into the heart and intent of individuals. He knew Mr. Rupert Gaston did not purchase the My Father's Shop out of goodness or want to be kind, no, he purchased the shop with the want and intent to own and posses.

To own and posses not a storefront though of course, but what sounded to be a slip of woman that had no desire at all to be bought or owned.

Oh yes, Mr. Gold was indeed intrigued.

* * *

"Mr. Gold we'll be landing in Maine in approximately 20 minutes, a rental car as you requested will be waiting. It should be a 30 minute drive to Storybrooke from there, sir."

Mr. Gold nodded to his single stewardess on his private jet and accepted the cup of tea she had on her tray along with his favorite Scottish whiskey. "Very good, make sure my bags are unloaded promptly Ms. Rainier, aye?" he lifted his eyebrows as he sipped his tea.

"Of course Mr. Gold, will there be anything else?"

"No, that'll be all." He dismissed her and turned to the window. It was stormy and he was perfectly content with that. Settling back against the soft leather of the seat he closed his eyes and softly began to quote

" _By the pricking of my thumbs,_  
 _Something wicked this way comes._  
 _Open locks,_  
 _Whoever knocks!_  
 _How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags!_  
 _What is't you do?"_

He absently rubbed a finger across his upper lip, something wicked indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...that obvious part? Yeah, not mine - Shakespeare bitches. :)


	3. Enchanted

 

His black Jaguar was ostentatious at best, insulting and tasteless at worst in the homey quaint town. It was a tooth achingly sweet little town. Picket fences, a café that looked like it had taken life from a Rockwell painting, a school with delightful pigtailed girls and rambunctious boy all in school uniforms, a general store, a hardware store, the picturesque B&B he was staying at and of course My Father's Shop. The little shop front stood at the end of Main Street, this he knew by the address rather than sight as it was quickly growing dark and the rain was pouring making a true view of the place nearly impossible.

He finished his driving tour of the small town and returned to the bed & breakfast. Granny was a bit hostile toward him and highly suspicious when she had checked him in an hour earlier, this had actually endeared her to him more than it offended. He was suspicious and hostility begat hostility and he was more than okay with that.

Granny was at work with knitting needles in the cozy parlor sitting room when he entered and she eyed him coolly. He gave her a small nod and proceeded toward the stairs but with one foot on the stair he thought better and turned to join granny in the sitting room.

"A blustery, bleak evening out there Mrs. Granny, is not?" he remarked amiably as he took a wing-backed chair across from her, setting his cane to the side.

She flicked an irritated eye at him and continued to knit furiously, "I'm sure I don't know Mr. Gold and my name is simply Granny, no Mrs. about it." She continued to click away with her needles in a manner Mr. Gold was surprised to find wasn't overly agitating. She nodded to the teapot sitting on the table between them, "There's tea there, hot, why don't you play Mother."

Mr. Gold simply inclined his head in answer and a ghost of a smile hovered over his lips as he detected a bit of the ice around Granny's façade chip.

He poured two cups of steaming, strong tea, hovered delicate tongs over pink tinged sugar cubes eyebrows raised toward her. Granny huffed twice; he took this to mean she wanted 2 cubes. She declined cream with a stern shake of her head.

After handing her, her cup and adjusting his own to his liking, a dash of cream, he settled back against the chair.

"I'm well sure you're here for something Mr. Gold and I know who you are… My granddaughter Ruby has me on the World Wide Web you know." She mumphed as her needles clicked away rhythmically. "So, why don't you just tell me what a fancy man like you is doing in our town?" she stopped and raised her eyebrows purposefully at him.

Mr. Gold continued drinking his tea, using the delicate china to hide his smile. He slowly sat down his cup and brushed invisible crumbs from his immaculately pressed trousers before he replied. "You're an astute woman Mrs. Granny," he suppressed a smile as she bristled at 'Mrs.'. "I am indeed here for a purpose, are you familiar with a Mr. Rupert Gaston?"

Granny put down her knitting abruptly and frowned, "Yes, sadly I am Mr. Gold. He broke the heart of a girl I consider as much kin to me as my own flesh and blood."

"Ms. French?"

Granny didn't appear shocked to see that he knew, "Indeed. Dreadful mess that… Mrs. French died when the girl was but 10, died in childbirth you see, the wee babe too – a boy… Moe French, that is the father mind you, he took to drinking heavily after that. They used to own this B&B," Granny glanced over to the reception desk with a soft sigh and shake of her head.

Mr. Gold had figured as much though there were no readily available records he could find while at his office in Boston that said as much. He figured the transfer of deed and business must have been filed in the city or county buildings.

"I wasn't always widowed you see and my Mister was quite good friends with the French's, we bought the B&B from them. Moe and Belle were about ready to lose it. Rosalie French was a rare, rare woman, she was the one that kept this place going." Granny's face was sad and she looked to be wiping at tears. "Moe was lost without her and Belle even more so…. But Belle grew up well, smart as a whip, always has her nose in book! Earned a scholarship to NYU, studied history she did, Scottish history was always her favorite if I remember…her mother was Scots, you are Scots too aren't you Mr. Gold?"

Mr. Gold was taking great care to school his actions. It surprised him a bit at this turn. Not Granny knowing that he was Scottish, his brogue was still very obvious even though he had refined his speech years and years before, "Aye, my family is from a small town outside of Inverness."

Granny clucked her tongue and nodded, "Well, our dear Belle ran into the dreadful Rupert while away at school. I never liked him you know… As boy he had of course, a childish innocent, all babes do, but he wasn't kind, wasn't very bookish, both things our dear Belle is… They never suited. I don't know the entire story… Ruby may, she and Belle are very good friends but I've not wanted to push. But I know Rupert hurt the girl beyond anything…"

Mr. Gold found himself leaning forward a bit to catch the details. Granny's gaze had mostly been focused on the flower wallpaper or her sewing but as her story drifted on to silence she seemed to suddenly remember the stranger she was talking to.

"Oh! Dear me, listen to an old woman prattle! And you only asked if I knew him! Hmmph!"

Mr. Gold leaned back, "I represent Mr. Gaston in some proceedings, he's liquidating assets and My Father's Shop is one of them." He decided playing nice would do no one any good at this point, plus he wasn't overly good at it anyway. There was also no use in pretending they both didn't know that Gaston owned the shop or about the financial difficulties surrounding the shop.

To Granny's credit she didn't gasp but steeled her spine, "I see. So I'm to assume then you know that if you  _liquidate_ , as you say, My Father's Shop you'll be putting Belle French not only out of a job but also her home?"

Mr. Gold was too well disciplined to let any emotion show that he didn't directly allow but the fact of the matter was, he was shocked to hear that. He didn't know Ms. French was also in residence at the building.

He chose his words carefully, "Mrs. Granny, I have a job to do for my client, My Father's Shop hasn't turned a remarkable profit since it was opened and it's pulling my client further in debt. I have a duty and I am here to see that the building and its contents are either sold or auctioned off within the months end."

It wasn't customary or probably even ethical for him to disclose that much of his clients business with a random old lady but he did so nevertheless. Perhaps he did it to shock her, to remove the sentimental feeling that was suddenly take grip of the room, or perhaps even more likely he did it to prevent any sentimental feeling he may, though it was rather terribly unlikely, form.

There was a tense silence for several minutes. Finally Granny gathered her knitting and rose pausing at Mr. Gold's chair. "Does Belle know about it yet?"

Mr. Gold internally sighed, "No, she does not."

Granny nodded biting her lip and left the room.

Mr. Gold stayed in the warm sitting room for a time deeply thinking. He was perhaps already regretting his coming. There was a reason he quit doing the field bits of the job, among other things they got messy. He didn't mind messy really, he truly had given up caring about people a long time ago, stories like the one Granny had shared didn't affect him any more. His was a face that apparently compelled people to tell him their life stories. He was immune to their plights. Ms. French was no different than anyone else. Everyone made their deals and they were expected to bide by them. Yes it was Moe French that had engaged in most of the first horrific loans and mistakes but his daughter had chosen to take them on instead, had chosen to let her cowardly father off the hook and impale herself on it instead. His bad deals had now become hers.

This was hardly Mr. Gold's fault. Better to be perfectly open and honest to everyone around before they began to think him kinder than he was. Tomorrow he would meet with Ms. French and begin to explain exactly her options and perhaps too, unravel more of the mystery of her, for she was indeed, a mystery.

* * *

His first morning in Storybrooke broke bright and chilly. The rain had scrubbed the trees of more of their fall leaves leaving the streets he viewed from his window awash in gold, reds and oranges. It was a very obvious fall day. The sun was doing it's best to burst from the remnants of storm clouds and at the moment it was doing an admirable job. He dressed methodically as he usually was wont to do, dark charcoal grey pinstripe custom made suit, deep slate grey dress shirt, deep burgundy tie that he tied in a large full Windsor knot then added a matching pocket square to his jacket pocket. His black crocodile boots completed his dress.

Standing before the looking glass he looked over his appearance. He wasn't a vain man, as much because he knew well he had nothing to be vain about but also because he simply didn't value physical vanity. He was powerful, wealthy, witty, and intelligent, also in measures judicious. He wasn't beastly, well in appearance at least. Average height, slender but decently muscled, save his bad leg. His hair had been a favorable light brown in his youth; it had greyed some at the temples he mused brushing it back. He didn't mind the grey or the faint lines creasing around his eyes. He wasn't twenty any more but there was nothing remarkable about being twenty, truthfully he preferred his 51.

He wasn't beastly to look at no, he was, he considered wholly unremarkable but far too often he did think himself a monster. Who else but a monster would be able to rip a girl from her home, take her livelihood and not even care?

Mr. Gold was a monster but today a very finely dressed one.

The clouds had moved back in and though it was just after 8 in the morning the day had darkened as the sun moved behind the clouds and the town was bathed in shades of slate and mulled brown where the dimmed sunlight filtered though the trees.

Mr. Gold started the rented Jaguar and pulled out on the street. A few mittened and buttoned up people meandered seemingly enjoying the day; none seemed to be obviously tourists just regular folk enjoying their town. As beautiful as this particular area of Maine was, as striking as the colors were and as close to a main highway as the town was it struck Mr. Gold as strange that it wasn't more a tourists trap, it practically screamed it. A lot could be done with this town, he mused, maybe if more people had come to the town he wouldn't be here getting ready to tell a woman she needed to clear out her store. And home.

But Mr. Gold did not deal in 'what if's'.

My Father's Shop was a traditional storefront with large windows that had lettered in Old English 'My Father's Shop' across the front. A wooden sign in the shape of an open book had the same carved in it, stained a lovely blue it hung above the central door. A carved rose in bloom was in the middle.

Though the reflection of the street in the window made it somewhat difficult to peer in Mr. Gold could see the small shop's first floor was bookshelves floor to ceiling, rows upon rows filled the place. He strolled forward gripping the gold handle on the heavy wood door and pushed it open. A faint tinkering bell announced his arrival.

The floors were a beautiful polished dark wood, a checkout counter – also dark gleaming wood was exactly to his right, books stretched out all around the rest. It was terribly old fashioned. There were no flashy plasticy covers winking at him like street corner girls as they did at the big box bookstores. When he was unfortunate enough to need to go those places he felt rather like he was going to a street corner. There, books were displayed glassy covers first as no one cared about the content, so long as they drew in people and enticed them to buy.

Not here. Here was different. This was almost less a store and more a library. It called to people softly, not harshly. It welcomed them in, enticed them to look, to seek, to immerse themselves in the mysteries of the tomes. Look, linger and absorb. Big overstuffed and well-worn old-fashioned chairs took up every available space not filled with books. Small tables practically spilled and groaned with the weight of found novels. There were no flashy displays with the current best sellers featured like the dancer of the night. No, there were discreet little tin tags on the shelves helping navigate the reader to the subject or author they might be seeking, but there were no favorites here he believed. Ms. French obviously loved all books the same and felt they all deserved a chance to be discovered. Or so Mr. Gold fancied. Perhaps he was too quick to infer intent but strangely, somehow, be it from his strange little, well honed gift or simply because it felt as if he knew this place from a time before as soon as he stepped into it – which was of course just beyond ridiculous – he seemed to known just what Ms. French was trying to convey in her little shop.

He had been standing in the entryway of this little shop for nearly five minutes he realized and hadn't seen the proprietor.

_"…If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?..."_

Mr. Gold was just about to come around a row of books but stopped short as a beautiful soft lilting voice overwhelmed him. He swallowed hard as he quietly observed.

A group of about ten kids looking to be between the ages of 6 and 10 were sitting cross-legged in rapt attention as they focused on the woman reading.

Mr. Gold fairly choked. She was stunning. More than stunning, she was beautiful, it made his knees almost buckle. He leaned heavily on his cane. She was perched on a low stool, her blue plaid skirt fanning about her knees, which she had tucked ladylike to the side. She wore a white sweater with a cowl neck and long sleeves pushed to her elbows, it was belted with a think black belt. He wasn't much for noticing women's fashion but he couldn't help but drink in every detail of this woman.

Her skin was a lovely ivory but he noticed a few freckles dashed about the exposed bits of her throat and lovely perfect collarbone. Her face was kind, cheeks lovely and round and a dusky natural pink. Lips full with a delicately bowed top lip and lushly kissable bottom. Her nose was small and perfect. Her eyes though, those were the most captivatingly and heartbreakingly beautiful feature. Bright, deep azure blue …they were startling. He wasn't sure that if she met his gaze that he wouldn't be struck dumb by their brilliance. Her lashes were dark and lush, framing the large blue eyes like the curtains of a window…enhancing the loveliness when open…concealing the brilliance when closed.

Her hair was lovely also, deep russet with flashes of deep auburn. Long and full of curl, it laid about her shoulders mostly escaping from the blue ribbon she had tied it back with. He watched completely enraptured with her, watching her face, so full of expression as she read to children in front of her, voice changing with each character making the kids at the proper times giggle or gasp.

This he knew quite without being told was Belle French, the woman he intended to destroy in less time then he was sure it would take for that enchanted rose she just read about to wilt.


	4. Expectations

 

Story time was coming to an end, much to Mr. Gold's relief and also a bit to his woeful regret, as his leg was aching and begging for relief but he was loathe to leave his hiding place and her voice.

"Alright guys, tomorrow we'll read more okay?" A laugh born of music filled Mr. Gold's ears and he blinked briefly to savor it. Hers was voice he could almost swear he knew. It was like a little scratching at the back of the most recessed memories in the cloudy fringe of his mind. He felt like he might have known her, once upon a time. He gave himself a hard internal shake at that, he was losing his mind.  _Your mind is going daft, Gold_ , he chided himself again.

There was a small whirlwind of chaos as kids and parents dispersed and clattered through the small shop, the high tinkling of the shop bell announcing their exit.

Mr. Gold held back, waiting to be sure Ms. French was alone. When finally there weren't any more voices and the last bell chime had faded he gingerly, straight backed stepped into the children's area where Ms. French was just putting up her book and stool.

"Ms. French," Mr. Gold was surprised his voice was softer than he intended. She was truly breathtaking.

Ms. French startled, looked up, blue meeting dark coffee brown. "Oh! You startled me, can I…."

"I know who you are… What do you want?"

Mr. Gold pulled up as another person was suddenly standing directly in front him, blocking his view of Ms. French.

"Granny said to expect you."

She was tall, slender, dark haired and mad as a hornet Mr. Gold observed. He had a sneaking suspicion that this person was Ruby, Mrs. Granny's granddaughter. He didn't need the red of her fingernails, the scarlet of her button down shirt or the bright streak of crimson in her dark locks to tell him so.

"Ms. Ruby I presume? We haven't actually met," he stepped to the side to bring Ms. French into view before continuing, "my business is actually with Ms. French but since my reputation appears to have preceded me we might as while make introductions." His voice had hardened, taken on a sneer. "I am Mr. Gold of Baelfire Consulting." In an act of old world charm he wasn't completely conscious of doing he gave a small half bow to both women, inclining his head slightly.

Ruby grunted folded her arms over her chest clearly showing what she thought of his demonstration. Ms. French clutched the book of fairy tales to her body, brow furrowing slightly as she looked from him to Ruby and gave a timid hesitant smile. "It's a pleasure Mr. Gold, I am Belle French…and my friend Ruby Hopper. How can I be of help to you sir?"

Mr. Gold continued to ignore Ms. Hopper's grunt of disapproval and focused on Ms. French. Her smile was genuine and warm, it shown brilliant and sparkling in her vibrant eyes.

"Don't be nice to this…miscreant! Do you even  _know_ what he's here for?!" Ruby nearly growled. "He's here for Gaston to kick you out of here and sell this place!" Ruby waved her hands wildly stomping her foot.

Mr. Gold stood straighter and donned a completely blank look.

Ms. French looked between the two people not betraying much her self. Her gaze faltered once, she bit her lip and still held the book like a shield.

"Ruby I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, you're a good friend," she smiled again putting her hand on her friends shoulder, "but while I hadn't met Mr. Gold until now, I knew someone was coming…" she trailed for a moment blinking, Mr. Gold would have sworn she was blinking back tears but rejected the thought. "Rupert called me last night…" she shrugged.

Mr. Gold was completely caught off guard. He was not expecting that in the slightest.

"You  _knew_?! He  _called_ you?! You  _spoke_ to him?!" Ruby gasped.

Ms. French nodded and sighed, "Mr. Gold I believe we have much to discuss, would you care to join me for tea?"

Rube was outraged, "You're going to me make him tea?! If you knew he was coming you must know how vile he is! He is the Crocodile! He's not someone to be nice to Belle…" Ruby had the decency to blush slightly, "No offense Mr. Gold."

Mr. Gold was entirely composed and wasn't in fact offended in the slightest and inclined his head to indicate so with a shrug, both hands on his cane in front of him. He was kind of enjoying this; it wasn't at all what he had been expecting. At all.

"Ruby, I appreciate your concern I do…but this is my business. Now I know you've got to get to the diner so if you would, please hang up my 'out' sign as you leave?" Ms. French's tone brooked no argument though she was still all smiles and kindness.

Lord, Mr. Gold was intrigued.

He watched Ruby looked again between him and her friend clearly wanting to argue. "Fine…" she turned to him, "You be mean to her and I'll make myself a pair of crocodile heels and matching purse from your scaly hide!" She then stormed off in a mess of red and fury.

Ms. French turned back to him with an embarrassed smile, tucking wayward curls behind her ear. "I am sorry about that Mr. Gold, Ruby is entirely too overprotective…and far too dramatic for her own good. If you'll follow me I'll get tea started."

Mr. Gold couldn't really think of what to say. He wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting but this certainly wasn't it.

He nodded and followed her to the back of the store. The back corner of the store was a cluttered, but tasteful, living room type space. A Victorian settee, two wing-backed chairs flanking a fireplace, various ottomans, tables and mismatched chairs of all kinds were grouped about the area intimately. The only other windows he had seen in the place, aside from the entry windows, had curtains of heavy blue velvet which were open and letting in the muted sunlight. Along one wall were several electric teakettles and coffee pots with tea sets and coffee mugs to the side. There was an impressive selection of tea bags, loose tea and coffee along with a variable cornucopia of additives and accompaniments. Perhaps though the most impressive part of the room were the antique tea sets all displayed about on shelves. Perhaps forty, they were all beautiful and unique.

He lastly noticed that a small bookshelf in the corner had several sets carefully packaged tea sets for sale. Perhaps there was a bit of an entrepreneur in her after all.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, I'll be just a moment."

He did, selecting a sturdy looking craftsman style chair with a leather cushion. It was positioned so that he could easily watch her graceful movements as she went about scooping out tealeaves and warming a porcelain teapot.

He was completely engrossed in watching her, absently toying with the antique spinning wheel that was sitting ornamentally next to his chair. He jerked his hand back soon as he realized what he was doing. He wasn't one for idle movement.

"You're not what I expected Mr. Gold," she finally said quietly as she brought the tray of tea things to the round table before him.

She wasn't looking at him, busy pouring tea.

"Well, if it makes you feel better you aren't what I was expecting either… You do know what I'm here to do aye?" he couldn't believe that she truly did as kindly as she was treating him.

She sighed just a bit, "I do. You're here to liquidate this," she gestured to the shop around her, "mar on my ex-fiancés financial books."

She lifted the cream and looked at him questioningly. He nodded for the cream, declined the sugar then accepted the small cup and saucer with the stirring spoon in it.

"And you realize that liquidating means I will be facilitating the selling of everything in this building, the building it's self…the business entity if I can get a dollar for it, right?" He was harsher than probably strictly required but she was making strange …things, flutter about in the vicinity of his heart.

It was probably just indigestion.

"Ruby's grandmother isn't the only one that knows how to use the Internet Mr. Gold," she quirked a smile.

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow, "Then you know I'm ruthless and begging and crying and any other attempts to change things would be moot, aye?"

She took her time in answering, sipping her tea "Why do you think I'm not doing any of those things? You have a job to do, I would be rather…unreasonable to blame you for my plight and attempt to sway you since really you're just doing a job."

You could have knocked him over with a piece of straw.

He mulled her words over, thought about her demeanor. She was being kind, but there was something she was hiding.

"I have a great suspicion that you are being very kind to me on the surface but are plotting how to slit my throat in that pretty head of yours, aren't you dearie?"

Her lips twitched and her eyes danced, "I'm very sure I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Gold."

Mr. Gold found himself smiling also though he had no idea why.

"I'll be brining in an auction company to load up any remaining contents at the end of the month. I'll be shopping the building space starting tomorrow, I've already interesting parties scheduled to tour the property." He reached to refill his cup but first gestured the teapot at her cup. She nodded and he refilled hers then his own. He was trying to watch her reaction covertly, she was giving nothing away, appearing to be nothing but calm and collected. She did have a tell though, small thought it was. The grip she had on the delicate white and blue cup, which he noted absently, had a superficial chip along the rim, so tight her fingers were strained white. She perhaps wasn't at all as together as she seemed.

"I happen to be something of a rare book connoisseur and would like to start going through your collections to separate out the more valuable volumes before selling off larger lots. I see you have a few antiques – I'll be bringing in experts on those as well."

"And if I am able to bring my debt up to date before the month is out will I be able to retain the business?"

Mr. Gold was just reaching to put the cup on the table but the question catching him off guard caused him to drop the cup. There was a moment of slow motion as the cup fell to the hardwood and there was a sharp resonate breaking sound.

Quicker than breath Belle was scooping up the fragmented pieces from the floor and into a small garbage can.

"I am quite sorry Ms. French, I will of course pay for it." He couldn't remember the last time he had dropped something. He was a careful, precise and methodical man. There were no wasted action or hasty ones. In everything he was a deliberate man. He did not tolerate errors that were resulted from impulsive behavior. He was never caught off guard.

Until today.

"Mr. Gold don't fash yourself, it is only just a cup."

He smiled broadly unable to help it, "I have'na heard 'fash' since I was back home a great many years ago." Whether he did it consciously or no his brogue thickened and crowded out his more refined speech.

Ms. French smiled, "My mother was Scottish, from Glasgow. I studied Scottish history in college… I haven't heard a Scottish accent since my senior year…" she returned to her chair and smiled warmly at him. "It's nice, you have a wonderful Highland brogue."

He was sure he saw a blush on her cheeks and it caused a funny clutching feeling in his stomach. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it also wasn't  _unpleasant._ He was also surprised she was able to tell his accent was from the Highlands; most people couldn't have, or would have cared.

What in the bloody hell was going on!

"But to answer your question, even if you were bring your debts to date Mr. Gaston has already started proceedings and all notices have been issued, there is no legal requirement that he stop the sale of this business."

She nodded appearing to have anticipated this.

"If I come up with the money to buy whatever remains before the end of the month would I be allowed to purchase what remained?"

"Ms. French, these are questions for your attorney to inquire of my company, not of me in this instance." He was cold, detaching himself again.

"Why do I get the feeling there isn't a chance in hell that I can save my business and my home?"

There was no desperation in her voice, no pleading or agony, just simple resignation.

"Dearie I am, as your friend Ms. Hopper warned you, a cruel man. I've no use for sugar coating things. No, there isn't a chance in hell you will be saving your business. My company is very good at what we do, we cover our proverbial bases and cross our t's and dot our i's. We have a duty to our client, which is larger than this business. This business will be sold and assets liquidated to bring the most cash as quickly as possible. "

"There are no more avenues for you. I would assume also that if you had some cash reserve you would have used that already to prevent you getting to this place in the first place. There is no getting out this."

Ms. French flinched like she had been slapped. Mr. Gold almost felt regret for the way he had spoken. Almost. Everything he said was truth. They didn't leave room for 'what if's' in his business. He ran it just like he did his life. Everything methodically planned and every possibility foreseen.

Except Ms. Belle French, he had not foreseen her. He did think it a terrible pity that her face was now creased with worry lines and sadness had taken hold, dulling her beautiful eyes. She was struggling to conceal it, but he saw it. Someone so beautiful should never look so sad. Not that he regretted it. No, this was his job, this was just another deal to follow through on and fulfill. There was no such thing as something for nothing after all.

"Well then Mr. Gold, it would seem we will be seeing much of each other over the next few weeks what say we try and make the best of it, hm?"

Again the woman threw him off kilter. His face must have finally betrayed him too as her smile turned a bit wicked, "What? I'm a practical woman Mr. Gold. I would give anything to keep this business and I'm not yet ready to give up hope, but in the mean while it would do me no good to fight against a very real possible inevitability. So, I chose to make the infamous Crocodile if not an ally, at least not an enemy lest he decided to bite."

"A wise choice to not poke the beast dearie, but my company deals in absolutes. I could make your life particularly…difficult, more so than you can imagine. Trust though when I say everything has been written in stone concerning this liquidation."

She shrugged, "We'll see."

Mr. Gold decided then that for as beautiful as she was, she was also insufferable. "So be it. I thank you for the tea Ms. French but I do believe that its time I should be going."

"It was kind of you to bring me this news yourself Mr. Gold, mister Big Wig that you are, I hardly thought my little shop would warrant a second look from a man such as you… Let alone a personal visit."

She was following him toward the door; he stopped and turned to look at her with an appreciative gleam in his eye. She was a sly devil. "Sometimes even beasts need a change of scenery, especially when the scenery is as lovely…and as perilous as you. Good day Ms. French." He let his gaze burn predatory for a moment and trail up her body from the soles of her shoes to the top of her shiny hair. She needed to remember whom she was dealing with. She would be wise not to bait him he only needed but a reason.

"Indeed, well every rose has its thorn they say, try and grasp me and we'll see if Crocodiles bleed. Good day Mr. Gold."

Oh indeed they would he thought, indeed they would.


	5. Strange(r)

She leaned against the counter with a shaking deep sigh. Truthfully, that man scared her. Well, maybe not the man himself, she actually had found him quite…charming. In an intimidating, Highland Scot warrior kind of way. She shook her head slightly, turning her sign back to Open. She was being silly.

He  _was_  appealing though, in that harsh, gritty, dangerous way. His accent, that was something wonderful, it was the voice of her dreams. His voice, she let her mind wander off like it so often did, his voice was the voice of every anti-hero in her novels, his voice was truly the voice in her dreams, the timbre of her champion. His steely brown eyes were the eyes of every determined reluctant defender. His body cut a sharp, if deceptively unassuming figure but she was sure there was a hidden strength. His cane was a warrior's scar, it might tarnish his strength and his cunning to some, but to her, it augmented it, it gave him an edge. He was a man who fought. She couldn't help liking that, she couldn't help herself, and she was a romantic. She had known him an hour and she had already written him into a half dozen adventures and in each, the victor.

Maybe that is why most the town thought she was just a little bit strange. She always saw something loveable in those others deemed unlovable, something redeemable in the sinner. Something beautiful in what that everyone else found ugly. She saw more than what was on surface, Belle liked to think she saw beauty in negative spaces. She liked to believe she saw the goodness in everyone…and she did believe everyone, somewhere, even if buried really deep and small had something good in them.

She shrugged absently setting about straightening the random book or two. She did know that he was dangerous. She did know that she was losing her entire life; she wasn't naïve, (well not mostly) and that more than Mr. Gold scared her to pieces.

She had been taking on all this by choice. She knew that. She knew she had been taking on all her father's risky loans and all his back door deals and thought she could handle it, that had been naïve. She had believed so whole-heartedly that she could turn everything around.

Moe's Game of Thorns had never caught on; she sadly knew she could blame the horrible name for only a small bit of that. Rose Arbor Nursery & Florist that the Boyd family owned had always been better and would always better. Moe loved flowers she knew, the rose was his favorite, and it reminded him of her mother but a love of roses did not a business make.

Belle sighed looking around her lovingly, painstakingly put together shop. Hints of roses were everywhere. She had named the shop for her father but had built it for her mother and the thing she and herself loved most. Books.

Rosalie loved roses same as Moe did so they had always reminded her of her mother, and even more so after her death. She closed her eyes softly caressing the rose that was carved into the bookshelf she had been rearranging; their dear family friend and local carpenter Marco Petto had made all the bookshelves for her. He had carved roses in each and every one. She missed her mother so much at times. It was going to be so hard to let this place go. So hard to let the books go. Each book she personally selected, carefully placed. She let her fingers lovingly, lightly run over the spines as she wound her way to furthest back shelves where the oldest books were. They were the books (well some of them, many had been sold) that she had started the shop with. All were older, most of them in some way collectible, some of them worth a good deal of money being that they were first editions and some autographed. A few were by famous Scottish authors. They had been her mother's books.

These books she would buy back. There was no question about that. She hadn't liked parting with any of them; the only thing that eased her sadness and guilt about it was those that had been sold had been to people that would treasure them. Love them. All the people, well save maybe a couple here and there, that came to her shop loved books. Hers wasn't a flashy shop or a shop on the edge of tomorrow with every single latest bestseller. People would drive to the next town if they wanted that. Sure she had most of the bigger hits but those that came to Her Father's Shop came to find a best friend, or a true love…a fairy tale, an adventure tale, a heartbreak to mirror their own, they came to discover a true love not to pick up a glossy one night stand.

She would figure out how to save the rest of shop in due time, yes she would, but for now she squared her shoulders and prepared the Children's Reading Nook for the afternoon pre-school reading. Emma would be coming by soon.

Thinking of her protégé made her smile. Emma was 15; on the cusp of when her fairytale would begin she liked to think, though Emma would guff if she ever mentioned that. Belle knew though that secretly Emma was a fairytale believer. How could she not be really? Wasn't her parent's marriage like a fairy tale?

Belle sighed again. Mary Margaret was a few years older than her but she considered her one of her dearest friends and she remembered the whirlwind love story of Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan like it was yesterday. Then again, Belle always did have a soft spot for happy endings.

Emma had come along early in the Nolan marriage, while Mary Margaret was still in college in fact. Everyone talked that they had gotten married because she was pregnant, Belle knew differently and though Emma was delivered almost exactly 9 months after the wedding it wasn't the reason for it. David Nolan had been madly in love with the raven-haired Miss Storybrooke and he didn't want to wait. Mary Margaret had felt the same.

Belle also remembered very well Emma growing up as she had babysat for her constantly, since Mary Margaret was still in college and David was working full time. Emma had quickly latched onto Belle and was her favorite person in the whole world next to her daddy. Belle had worried that maybe once Emma had become a teenager that the book loving, self-assured Emma would disappear into the ghastly world that was 'teenage girl' and no longer would want to hang out with the 'strange Belle French' but she did. Emma allowed no one to talk bad about Miss. Belle, no one.

For one so young Emma was fiercely loyal and protective. Belle was quite proud of the young woman she was becoming. It was also breaking her heart to know that she was going to have to tell Emma about Mr. Gold. If she knew Emma, and she did, Emma was going to be raising cane about it. Not that she blamed her; she would too, if she thought it'd help.

No, what would have helped was if she had never met that blasted Gaston! She shuddered and wished, not for the first or last time that she had listened to Mary Margaret instead of her father. That was done though, no use crying over spilt milk.

The door chiming Emma's arrival distracted her from her brooding.

"Emma!" Belle beamed truly happy as always to see her. She hugged her warmly.

"Hello," Emma, blond hair cascading down her back in curls the wind had tousled to a riot. Belle watched her sling her messenger bag behind the counter along with her knit cap and mittens with a decidedly disgruntled huff.

"You seem out of sorts dear, did something happen?"

"No…yes…kind of." Emma wasn't one to usually mince words, Belle was curious.

"Well I've found the answer to many things is chocolate, we have a few minutes before the tykes will start flooding in. Why don't we break into my secret stash and talk?" Belle was beginning to think she should talk to Archie about becoming a therapist, it seemed she did more talking with people in her store than she did actually selling them books.

Belle pulled out her favorite French chocolate that her father gave her every for Christmas. She knew it cost a fortune and tried to get him to not buy it, neither he nor she, had the budget for those kinds of indulgences. But he continued and she gave up trying to convince him, so it was rationed through the year.

"Okay Emma, spill the beans."

Emma frowned deeply her hazel eyes, so much her mother's eyes, looked sad.

"Well that's just kind of it, I don't have anything much to say! You know we didn't have school today since mama and all the teachers had their fall parent/teacher meetings so I helped dad at the clinic… He got a call to go out Storybrooke Stables one of the mares was foaling and it was turned wrong…" Emma's look drifted off, as she seemed to be recalling the events of the morning in her mind's eye. Belle was familiar with the action, she often found herself doing it as she imagined the stories and characters from her books.

"Well you know that Ms. Milah's son just got back from boarding school…"

Belle fought really hard not to smile, the blush told her what she was already starting to figure out. This was about a boy.  
"Oh, did he? I remember him, what was his name? Neal wasn't it? Yes, yes I'm sure that was it. He was such a darling little boy. You two had play dates now and again when you were younger."

Emma turned even brighter pink, "Yeah, Neal, he was 8 when he went to boarding school…"

Belle snorted quietly, she didn't believe in shipping one's child off at such a young and tender age, to a year round boarding school no less! Belle knew Milah mostly by name only, she wasn't a lifelong resident of Storybrooke like most residents, she had shown up with 4-year-old little boy and bought the town stables and the rest was rather history.

"Well…he's kind of…." Poor Emma was almost as red as a tomato.

"Cute?" Belle supplied letting a small smile escape.

"Oh good go…" Emma caught herself, "gracious yes! He's so hot! 17, not muscular strong like a quarterback but… Elegant and lean… He's got the most incredible dark brown eyes and dark hair… His hands are just …wonderful! Oh Belle, he was saddle breaking a filly in the paddock and he's… He's perfect! And Belle do you know what he did?!" Emma was now rambling like she couldn't contain herself and her hands were clutched together, face radiant and blooming.

"What?" Belle's answer was nearly breathy as she shared Emma's excitement. It was positively delightful to be the first person that Emma shared her sure to be first glimpse at the magic of young love. Belle felt honored, but maybe a little guilty too, maybe it should have been Mary Margaret listening instead of her. She brushed the thought off, Emma would talk to her mother and she doubted her excitement would have waned in the slightest by the time she did.

"He winked at me! Honest to goodness winked!"

"No?! Really! You lucky girl," Belle laughed with a genuine smile.

"Yes! But I…oh I could only stand there and gape at him like a fool…a foolish codfish! He tried to talk to me after, when I was in the stalls waiting to see if Dad needed my help and I could barely speak! He must think me the worst, the most idiotic girl ever! I acted like a  _child_!"

"Oh I'm sure you exaggerate my dear. Besides, boys, especially teenage boys aren't terribly observant. He probably thought you were being attractively demure. Young men like girls that are ladies and don't just fall at their feet. You did just fine I'm sure!" Belle reached out and squeezed the younger girls' hands.  
"Maybe…Belle can I ask you something?" Emma had turned from blushing at first infatuation to thoughtful in the blink of an eye.

"Of course, you know you can always ask me anything."

Emma looked hesitant, "Does…does it bother you that some people call you…strange? I mean I don't think you are! Not at all! I think you're wonderful, but some people…they say you're old fashioned and you dress old fashioned… You're always reading and you didn't marry that Gaston guy – which I was really glad about, as you know – and you just don't  _do_ like anybody else. I mean everyone says you're a really great person what with volunteering at dad's clinic and the animal shelter, and helping the Nuns, and stuff here her for kids…and helping at the school. They say you're wonderful but that you're…" Emma was pinking up again, but this time from embarrassment not giddy.

"Strange? Oh Emma, no it doesn't bother me at all. I mean maybe, when I was younger it did a bit but not anymore. If I've learned anything it's that you've always got to be you. Whatever you are, whatever makes you happy…that's what you've got to be. Nobody else knows you truly, knows what makes you happy – only you know that sweetheart and it's your responsibility to make yourself happy. And people will respect you for it, they might not understand you…and some still will not like you but I promise any man worth your time, your heart will want you to be nothing but  _you_."

Belle joined Emma on the sofa leaving the chair she had been sitting in and put her arm around her. "I know I'm strange to a lot of people, I am…well I'm just Belle and I like my old fashioned skirts and manners, I like helping people and animals. I like reading about everything and I'm good at. We are all born with very special gifts, things that we are good at and things that we give back to the world. If everyone had the same gifts, if everyone say had only white chocolate how boring would that be? I like white chocolate, but I love dark chocolate…and chocolate with hazelnuts…and you know what?" she grinned eyebrows raised.

"What?" Emma was starting to relax.

"Sometimes I like gummy worms and sour gum drops. People are different, that's why the world is interesting. Don't worry about being vanilla darling Emma…be chocolate, or tooti-fruity, or sherbet! Be sherbet!" Belle giggled and Emma was soon laughing with her.

"Don't worry what people think of you, or what they think of me… and this Neal character? I bet he'll just want to make sure he gets to…" Belle suddenly realized there might be a flaw in her analogy and it was her turn to blush.

Emma rolled her eyes and laughed, "I know what you're saying Belle, it's okay. " _To thine own self be true_ ". I got it."

Belle chuckled relieved, "Exactly. Now, go pick a book for our little ones, hm?"


	6. Friendship

Ruby stood at the lunch counter trying none to hard not to stare at the man seated in a booth in her section of the diner. The man all in all wasn't that scary, well that's not true. Just looking at him you knew he was a man that suffered no nonsense, didn't take no for an answer and was damn used to getting his way. She hated the man, if for no other reason than for her dear friend's sake. How could he do this to Belle? The woman was as good as they came, hands down.

Ruby often wondered how it was that she, a reformed wild child, had happened to befriend the best people in the known world. Mary Margaret and Belle were the best. How could this Mr. Gold really take everything away from her? Surely there was something he could do? Work with her? Something! He was a revered businessman and owned a company that specialized in problem solving. Ruby knew that Belle was far more deserving of the help than that bastard Gaston was.

Maybe Ruby should try and explain to him how good Belle was… Maybe she could be nice, for Belle's sake. Maybe.

"Good afternoon Mr. Gold, what can I get for you?" Ruby tried her best to smile and hoped it wasn't the garish phony smile everyone told her she had when she tried to fake it.

By Mr. Gold's raised eyebrow she guessed she hadn't succeeded in fooling him.

"Oh I was never any good at faking it…" Ruby unceremoniously dumped herself across from the older man with a deep groan. "It's like this Mr. Gold, Belle is a good friend of mine, she's a really, really, really," Ruby paused sounding almost pained, " _really_ , good person. I hate to see her in this spot. It's not her fault, it's her damn irresponsible father's and that blasted Gaston git. I know she's been falling behind on payments …and that the store isn't profitable but she's trying. Really trying!"

Mr. Gold's facial expressions didn't change, he simply look at her with cold brown eyes and listened.

"I know, I know…you work for that bloody man…"

Mr. Gold lifted a hand, "Mr. Gaston is a client, I work for no person. Keep that straight dearie."

Ruby flinched sitting back blinking, "Okay… Mr. Gaston is your client but please…please…" Ruby realized she wasn't even sure what to ask for or how to ask it, she just knew she had to ask…something.

Mr. Gold settled back against the red pleather of the booth and peered at her with a strange expression she couldn't figure out.

"Mrs. Hopper, while I actually commend your loyalty to your friend, I find it highly inappropriate that you would interceded with me. Ms. French's business with me is none of your concern."

Ruby was unfazed by the acid dripping from his words.

"That is where  _you're_  wrong,  _dearie_ , in this town we look after each other and especially Belle. Nobody else looks after her."

Ruby was pleased to see a brief look of shock on his face. She rose from the booth and tried to shrug back into her waitress role, "Did you decide what you wanted for lunch?"

He looked up with a mocking smile, "Besides the tears of virgins and the blood of saints? I'll have coffee and the Monte Cristo…dearie."

She refused to flinch when he ended his order with a sneer. Gathering as much decorum as she felt she could, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and marched back to slap the order slip on the spindle for the cook.

Refilling a few coffee cups and sodas she figured she had time to sneak out and make a quick call to Archie. There just had to be a way to save's Belle store.

Outside the air was nippy and Ruby wished she had grabbed her coat but settled for wrapping her arms close to her body as she dialed her husband of less than 8 months.

"Hi sweetie…what an unexpected surprise to talk to you. Everything okay?"

Ruby smiled soon as her husband's voice filled her ear. She had married such a sweet, loving man. "Hi, yeah, everything is okay. I just wanted to hear your voice…and I was wondering do you care if we have Belle and maybe the Nolan's over for dinner?"

"Of course not, are you sure everything is okay?"

Ruby smiled hearing the concern, she was grateful again for having such a thoughtful and caring husband. "Yes, I'm just worried about Belle and was hoping we all could figure out someway to help."

"You're a good woman Ruby Hopper…I'm sure lucky to have you."

Ruby pinked up feeling all warm and cozy, warmth radiating out from her heart. She was sure it was because they were still in the honeymoon phase but she was sure madly in love with that man.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one, love you…and I'll see you tonight."

After a few gushy lovey sentiments Ruby hung up with a silly smile on her face. Some people didn't understand how they could possibly be a couple but she knew there wasn't a man in the world she could love more, or who loved her more.

* * *

Mary Margaret Nolan was just wrapping up her last parent/teacher conference of the day and couldn't be more pleased. It wasn't that Jefferson and Alice March weren't pleasant people, they were…they were just a little bit, well, different. Their daughter Grace was a joy though. All her kids were really wonderful kids and she considered herself lucky to have such a great group of them.

That didn't mean Mary Margaret was a saint though, conferences were hellish on even the most angelic of teachers. So many questions, so much to explain. The parents with the academic kids were easier to placate, usually. The kids that needed extra care, well that was a little harder to explain to the parents. Every child she taught was bright and caring and smart, some just had different ways of learning, different ways of expressing themselves and the curve for them was much more critical. Explaining the more subtle nuances of that was straining at times.

Grace March was a excellent, vivacious student that took a great deal after her father, even if she looked like her blond haired, blue-eyed mother. Jefferson March was a bit of eccentric. He was a surveyor for the city and an amateur cartographer. Alice was a homemaker and had a side business making candles that she sold to the antique and gift shop in town. Mary Margaret was a big fan of the candles, they were next to magical, they almost transported you to another world.

Mary Margaret sighed as she locked up her classroom and gave a small wave to Dawn and her husband Philip as she went to her car. Dawn taught Home Economics, which baffled Mary Margaret greatly seeing as Dawn couldn't even thread a needle without pricking her fingers, but there was far more to home-ec than sewing she knew, but Dawn just didn't seem to know much of it.

As she was getting into her car her cell phone rang shrilly.

"Well hello Mr. Nolan," she grinned starting her car.

"Hello Mrs. Nolan, you are sounding quite chipper. Did your meetings go well?"

"Oh they went as well as could be hoped…I really do have great kids in my class. Their parents are good people…"

Her husband snickered, "But you still would like a glass of wine and some chocolate now."

She smiled broadly, "Oh David, you know me so well."

"Indeed I do Princess, and I know this probably isn't the first thing you'd choose to do after your day today but Ruby and Archie invited us over to dinner tonight. There is some business with Belle, about her store. Has something to do with that new guy that showed up in town, believe his name is Mr. Gold. They asked us to come over so we could all talk."

Mary Margaret bit her lip, "Of course we'll go. We have to go. I do worry about Belle, that girl has gone through so much. …David, I just know she's in trouble with that store, why won't she let anyone help?"

"I don't know sweetheart, but we'll help her. Archie said dinner was about 7 and to come over whenever."

"Okay, well I'm headed home soon as I'm done talking to you, should I stop and pick up something for dessert do you think?"

"Emma decided to make apple pie, Belle showed her a recipe last week evidently."

Mary Margaret frowned. She really wasn't all that fond of apples. Ever since she had bit into that awful Red Delicious apple when she was a teenager and found the inside rotten and worm in it, she just hadn't been able to stomach them.

"Well, one pie probably won't be enough for all of us, why don't I stop and pick up a coffee cake or two from Granny's?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you at home in about a half hour?"

"Yes, unless Granny accosts me," she laughed.

"See you then, love you Mrs. Nolan."

"Love you too Prince Charming," she laughed ending the call and slid her phone back into her purse.

She didn't know what to do about Belle. The girl, well woman, she was 26 after all, was one of her closest friends and like a second mother to her daughter or maybe a big sister. Mary Margaret wasn't exactly sure how Emma saw Belle, but she knew she meant the world to her. She also meant everything to her. Belle was a little sister, best friend to her and when she hurt, her heart hurt too.

Putting her car into gear she pulled out of the parking lot with a million things on her mind.

* * *

Belle finally locked up her shop with a fond little caress to the rose in the center. It had been a long and tiring day, now she was expected to sit through dinner. It wasn't, of course that she didn't love her friends dearly and appreciate their concern she really did but the thought of sitting at a table and having them pity her? Have them look at her with that sadness…no she just couldn't do that. Not again, not after everything.

She pulled her worn blue wool pea coat closer to body, starting to walk down the street in rapidly fading daylight. Walking was good. Walking helped her clear her head. When the books and real life pressed in on her and she begun to feel claustrophobic, walking helped. She sometimes wondered what it would be like if she just kept walking.

It was just after 5, dinner was at 7 she would wait until 6:45 or so and call Ruby and bow out, tell her that she was maybe feeling sick or something. Close enough to dinner Ruby couldn't come look for her at the shop without leaving dinner. She felt rotten doing it, she really did but she couldn't face them all, not tonight.

She walked until Main Street faded and she was nearing the docks. The sky was barely light, a smoky grey with just the barest hits of fading orange. She didn't really mind though, the marina lights were starting to flicker to life and it comforted her.

She had always liked the Storybrooke Docks, many fond memories with her father, even some, though a bit faded and worn, with her mother.

"Oh momma…I miss you." She sat on the bench staring at the boats docked bobbing ever so slightly. It was soothing. Almost like she was remembering a life from far off. She dared to let tears fall here, by herself away from people and their scrutiny.

"Ms. French?"

She started, choking on a cry. She jumped up from the bench spinning to the brogue that was coming from behind her.

"Mr…Mr. Gold!" she stuttered trying to discreetly wipe at her eyes, "What…what are you doing all the way out here?"

Mr. Gold stepped out of the shadows into the light of the docks. "I walk when I need to think."

Belle actually laughed dryly wiping at her eyes giving up trying to hide her tears. "Of course you do…"

Mr. Gold now stood at her bench tipping his head looking at her curiously. "My knee does pain a bit Ms. French, but it doesn't keep me completely immobile dearie."

She caught the slight resentment in the otherwise innocent comment.

She shook her head, "I'm sorry…I didn't mean that, that would have been rude of me…it's just, that's rather why I'm here too. I walk when I need to think. And I was thinking about you…and my mom. It just seemed a little bit…" she trailed smiling shyly at him, gaze dropping.

"Ironic?" he supplied, "May I?" he gestured to the bench, she nodded and they sat.

"I don't know about ironic, maybe, something closer to coincidental?" she smiled again.

"Do you regularly smile this often at someone that has told you he'll be kicking you out of your home?" he kept his gaze on the boats.

"Other than you, only my father has kicked me out of my home, " she laughed a bit harshly.

Mr. Gold turned to look at her, "Your father kicked you out?"

She had no idea why she was suddenly feeling chatty, especially toward this man, maybe it was simply the relief of talking to someone she knew wouldn't give her pity. She had educated herself on the Crocodile, he didn't show pity and what was the worse that could happen? She could air her dirty laundry to this man whose blood ran cold and get it off her chest. He couldn't use of this against her. At least no more than the events were hurting her already.

"Yes, when I was 17. My mom had been gone a few years, he was losing the B&B…I'm sure Granny told you the story?" she knew Granny couldn't keep a story to herself even if she carried it with two hands in a bucket with a lid. He nodded that he knew.

"He had taken to drinking heavily after she died, he had gotten 3 DUI's in the previous year. Lost his license, refusing AA and missing his court appointed counseling with Dr. Hopper. I reminded him of her he said… Looking at me was torture. Hearing me speak… My very presence he said made him drink more. He was in a car accident; he went into the front of the hardware store…" she refused to look at him as she spoke, instead focusing on the stern of a boat named Little Mermaid.

"He went to jail for 6 months. As Judge Triton passed sentence my dad looked right at me and said he never wanted to see me again, that he wanted me out of his house…that it was my fault."

"It took me a month to get all the legal papers in order but my petition for emancipation was granted in record time. I moved in with Mary Margaret and David…they are my dearest friends. I don't know what I would have done without them."

Mr. Gold had turned back to stare out at the docks same as she.

"Mrs. Granny didn't mention that."

She smiled faintly, "No, she wouldn't. Nobody will. The town might be small and Granny a beloved gossip but that story is one you'll only hear from me…maybe my father, but that is doubtful. My friends are loyal, that story is one everyone knows…how could they not? But everyone is rather…protective of me I guess you would say."

"I see."

She shrugged, "It's actually part of why I'm out here. My friends are all gathering together to figure out how to save me. I'm being a terribly selfish, ungrateful person by lying and skipping out on them. They are wonderful people but I've lived off their charity for too long, I can't keep being the girl that has to be saved."

She looked over to him, hands folded over the head of his cane.

"You lived with your friends until you went to college? How did you ever forgive your father?" he turned back to her, his face screwed into an unbelieving, hard face, his voice was even hard, "How in the heavens did you come to take on his debt and the business? Why would you step into that mess for the man that threw you out? That's idiotic!"

She flinched, "He's my father. We began to mend fences when I was in college. Granny had bought the inn, bless her heart…my dad went to work at the cannery, he was doing better. He went to AA, he was…stable and I thought I maybe owed him a chance…"

"You bloody well did not. Any man that throws out his blood, that blames his daughter for his own reckless and selfish mistakes is no man worth a second chance. He also certainly does not deserve a daughter that would take on his foolish business mistakes."

His tone was brutal, pitiless and it nearly scared her. "He is the only family I have left. So I took on the business…I let Rupert into my life too, he wanted to help me…and at the time I thought…I thought…" she trailed off suddenly running out of words.

"You thought what?" he damned.

She opened to answer him but her blaring cell phone cut her off. "Oh! Excuse me," she mumbled and fumbled for her cell in her pocket.

"Hello? …um, I'm so sorry Ruby, I'm feeling horrible. I think it was something I ate…No, I'm sure I'll be fine…No, no don't come over! I'll be fine tomorrow I'm sure. I'm so sorry I ruined your dinner; I'll make it up to you I promise! …Oh, tell Emma to save me a piece, I'll have it tomorrow…. No really, I appreciate it, but I think I'm just going to go to sleep… I will, love you guys too …Goodnight."

"Sorry about that…I meant to call them earlier but I…."

"You were distracted, I feel that was probably my fault," he snorted lightly and made a sound that reminded her of ones her mother used to make when she was displeased with her father.

"I was, but please don't apologize. I'm sorry I dumped my sob story on you… Okay maybe I'm not, I needed to vent and I knew you wouldn't pity me. So I guess maybe I'm sorry I used you." She looked to him, his face in profile. He seemed to be fighting a smile. She smiled and directed her gaze back to the boats.

"Yes, it doesn't change anything though. I'm still going to kick you out of your home and sell your business."

"Yep, I know."

Silence fell about them but she didn't think it was entirely unpleasant. Wasn't that weird? Shouldn't it be awkward and unpleasant? Shouldn't she hate this man and not want to be anywhere near him?

"Is there anywhere in this blasted to town to get a drink that doesn't employ chatty waitresses?"

She grinned, she found she was indeed doing this at an alarming rate around him. She probably should try and be sterner around him. She really shouldn't be treating him like a friend. She had real friends that she was lying to right now so she could sit with the lion that was just waiting to eat her for dinner. She really was as strange as they said.

"I think I know a place…"


	7. Wraiths

Mr. Gold was very, very confused. He hadn't had a single drop of alcohol to drink since he arrived in Storybrooke. He wasn't taking any strange medications that would mess with his judgment or his sensibilities. There wasn't a family history of sudden onset mental illness. He didn't suffer from memory loss. At least that he could remember.

There was no explanation for the fact he was sitting across from Belle French in an intimate Scottish pub called, of all things, the Eider Duck, which Mr. Gold found to be an awful name for a pub. He likewise found it rather remarkable that one small town could have so many god-awfully named businesses. Today was a day for surprises though it seemed, as the Eider Duck was a quite impressive pub. What luck.

The floors were stone, the walls heavy dark wood. Open fires and a ceiling hung with all sorts of flags from various ships lent a very authentic feel. All manner of sea faring paraphernalia littered most surfaces. They had avoided the impressive bar though in favor of a more private booth that had massive antlers hung above their head. Gaelic music rolled just registering over the muted din of the standard crowd.

"I have'na met many lasses that drink scotch neat, as you are, that's impressive," he couldn't help remark as their server set the glasses down.

"My dad says I have my mother's palate."

He watched her run a delicate finger around the rim of the glass. She had beautiful, graceful hands.

It then in a quick, glaring clarity dawned on him. "Ms. French, I'm sorry. I didn't think…with your father's…" Mr. Gold fought for a graceful way to say it.

Ms. French seemed to quickly ascertain what he was trying to say, "My father's status as a drunk… It's okay. I drink, not much and not often but I enjoy a drink now and again. Drinking isn't a sin Mr. Gold. Drunkenness yes, drinking no."

He gave her a faint smile, "Alright, well I can drink to that,  _slàinte mhòr."_ He raised his glass to her.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he waited.

"Health to Marion," she lifted her own glass, and gave him a blazing, pleased with herself grin as she gave back the English translation to him.

"Just a test dearie, you passed."

"I should have known as a Highlander you'd be a Jacobite."

"Oh aye, indeed. Being as old as I am of course fought in '45 at Culloden," he answered derisively, fighting to not roll his eyes heavenward.

She giggled sipping at what he found to be quite good scotch. "You were testing my Scottish history were you?"

He made a showy gesture, rolling his hand at the wrist and then made a brushing motion. So he was.

"Hm, well, since I passed I should be rewarded."

"Och, is that what you think lass? Prey tell, how do you feel you should be rewarded?"

The light in the pub was dim but pleasant. It didn't feel expectant or intrusive as bright light sometimes did. He relaxed in it, relaxed in the dimness and the concealing shadow.

Her face creased with obvious thought. He enjoyed watching the furrows and lines change on her perfect face. It was as transparent as a windowpane. It was pleasing. She could hide things he was sure, but she seemed blissfully open and honest to him now. Perhaps too honest, he thought back to her confessions at the docks.

"For my reward, I want you to stop calling me Ms. French, it makes me feel old."

He raised an eyebrow, considering, "Names are special things dearie. They are intimate and have great power you know."

She made a noise, he wondered if she even realized she was doing it. It was half grumble, half sigh. "You mean like Rumplestiltskin? The poor miller's daughter had to guess his name or lose her baby?"

"Nothing so sinister my dear. Simply that the breakdown of social stature from the formality of titles such as Ms., Miss., Mrs., etcetera in favor of given names creates a familiarity that can become …cumbersome, especially in business dealings…" he paused wanting to watch her as she absorbed his words. "I am Scots though, we are a fanciful people, we like our stories of imps, changelings and monsters in Lochs. There is magic in names as well."

She snorted this time. It was an indelicate, unladylike sound that yet fit her perfectly. "However, I passed the test, I get my reward. You'll call me Belle…and if makes you taking my business a little harder, well I can't honestly say it'll hurt my feelings any. Next time, don't let me name my reward."

He actually laughed, an honest to goodness full belly laugh. The girl was honest to a fault and he approved. Far too many people cowered to him. Of course they should, he'd have their neck if they didn't…but there was something refreshing about a woman, even knowing her entire life was at his mercy that could and did stand up to him.

Maybe it was because she had nothing to lose, he thought. He did tell her after all that nothing would change the outcome she was facing. So maybe there was no harm in letting one formality slip to the wayside. "Alright, Belle it is. You will still call me Mr. Gold."

"How about Crocodile, can I call you that?"

Mr. Gold was beginning to think she might be a lightweight when it came to drinking. He thought this for about twenty seconds however because he knew the gleam in her eye wasn't the scotch. She was enjoying bating him. If he was being honest, he actually was enjoying himself as well.

Damn it all to hell.

"Nobody who values their life calls me Crocodile, at least not to my face," he was pleased that he successfully managed to say it without grinning.

She hesitated, seemingly gauging his sincerity, "Oh hush, you silly man, you try to act all scary and intimidating…but you're not an ogre."

If only she really knew. He was more than ogre. This, no matter how quaint it might seem, was still not altering anything. He would stick to the terms of his arrangement with Mr. Gaston. Yet, Belle…he rather liked thinking of her as Belle. Beauty suited her. Not just physically, but, and he did have a knack for seeing the heart and intent of things, was pure. She wasn't trying to deceive or manipulate. She was an honestly good being. That was incredibly rare. It was moreover maddening as hell.

"Can I ask you a question Dougal?"

He raised an eyebrow at her using his first name. She scrunched her nose and sipped her scotch, "No…it really doesn't suit you at all does it?"

"Which could be why no one calls me by it, dear."

She leaned back, "What does your mother call you?"

He took a long swallow of his second glass of scotch the server had replaced with his barely noticing. It shook him a bit that he was that unaware of his surroundings. What was this woman doing to him? It was very unsettling.

"By my middle name."

"Hm, and shall I have to guess your middle name?" she giggled.

Maybe the scotch was getting to them both, she was enchanting and he wasn't feeling nearly as prickly as he usually did.

"If you expect to use it I would wager you're going to have to, though the likelihood I'll let you know when you've reached the right one is nil."

"Well…it's not Rumplestiltskin, we know that… Angus?"

He couldn't help making a face, "Angus is a cow my dear, my parents weren't quite so cruel as to name me Dougal Angus."

"Dougal and Angus aren't bad names, they just don't suit you… How about, Blake? Dougal Blake Gold?"

"Decidedly not dearie."

He watched her swirl the amber liquid around her glass; face incredibly thoughtful and he didn't think she had ever looked lovelier.

"No? Okay… Cameron? Dougal Cameron?"

"Wrong again," he actually laughed.

She frowned, "And we're sure it's not Rumplestiltskin?"

"No, it is not Rumplestiltskin…what a dreadful mouthful that is." He gave an exaggerated shiver of his shoulders; he wasn't sure why exactly…other than he thought it might make her smile. He wanted to make her smile.

His chest swelled in odd, though not unpleasant, way as she did smile at him.

What in the bloody hell was happening?

"You aren't going to go through the entire alphabet are you my dear?"

"If I have to…" she scrunched her face in thought, "How did you hurt you leg?"

Belle gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I asked that…that was rude."

He arched an eyebrow and fought off the urge to sigh. The question did seem to come from nowhere but he wasn't insulted by it and even felt inclined to answer.

"There was an accident, almost 17 years ago. I was married and had just started Baelfire in Inverness; it was just starting to find its feet. My wife desired fame, not in the beginning but as I started to make more money and success she desired more of the limelight. I am not the type to parade about. I desperately desired privacy…"

He was shocking himself. He didn't share this story with anyone. He had gone through great lengths to bury it, to forget it. Yet, he couldn't stop himself, couldn't help wanting…perhaps even needing to tell her. This stranger that had her own story, had reasons to despise him and this story could be used against him but he couldn't stop himself.

Bugger.

"I met her when she was with the British Ballet Company, on tour through the UK. I was wrong I suppose to sweep her away and into the bleak life of a lawyer and struggling businessman, I thought we were in love. We did all right for a while…but…" his throat was suddenly parched and he bypassed the scotch for the glass of water next to it. "She filed for divorce, without telling me she was pregnant…"

He only stopped his story because she sputtered, choking on her scotch. "Are you okay…Belle?"

She nodded reaching for a napkin and wiping at her mouth, "I'm sorry…please, go on."

He didn't want to, but he did. "Of course we didn't have a prenuptial, so it was a messy drawn out process… She stopped showing up to the arbitration and negotiations about six months into the process. I didn't see her until the day the papers were finally entered and the judge issued the divorce decree."

He heard his voice break and he felt the tears but he still couldn't stop talking.

"It was the middle of December, a blizzard had come from nowhere, and it wasn't supposed to hit for another day or two. The roads were ice rinks, we were fighting…she was nearly 9 months pregnant; I wanted to know if it was mine. I knew she had strayed from our marriage. I wanted kids, she said she never did, she didn't want to be tied down she said. It was one of the big reasons we never could have made our marriage work."

"She all but ran out of the office building, straight into the storm. A lorry was out of control and barreling down the road, they said later his brakes had gone out …so on top of the sheets of black ice there was no way he was going to be able to stop."

"I ran after her… She went right into the path of the truck…" he no longer was sitting in the pub in the that small Maine town, he was back so many years ago in the harsh London winter, feeling that ice, hearing the screams.

"I pushed her out of the way. She was grazed and fell into the ditch. My leg was crushed… The doctors did the best they could to mend it, I have an artificial knee but the muscles were torn and never knitted right."

His eyes finally came to rest back on her trying to gauge her reaction.

"Oh Mr. Gold…" she reached across and to his total amazement took hold of his hand.

He smiled a little wearily at that, "I was told she lost the baby. She refused to tell me if it had been mine…I still don't know if the baby was mine. I wasn't even allowed to see it. I haven't seen her in 17 years either. The hospital wouldn't and was under no obligation since I wasn't her husband any longer, to be cooperative."

"So, I moved my business to the U.S. set my life up again and the rest…" he lifted his glass made a small salute and tipped it back finishing it.

Silence hung about them like a cloud of stagnate smoke, oppressive and choking. So there it was, the story that he went to great lengths to leave in in the UK. She was the first person to hear the story in 17 years and unless something dramatic changed she'd be the last.

The silence was still stretching out and he felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze. She furrowed her brow like she was deep in thought; she had sucked in her full bottom and was biting it. One hand was on her glass the other had pulled her hair over one shoulder and she had a single lock twisted around her finger.

"So it's kind of safe to say that that our pasts have been kinda shitty."

He sputtered and laughed loudly, genuinely, he hadn't expected her to say that. "Shitty indeed…"

She blessed him with a dazzling smile, "I am truly sorry Mr. Gold…" she for a reason he couldn't even begin to guess at squeezed his hand, again, "I propose a toast…"

Since he had finished his previous drink he discreetly motioned to the server who was obviously very attuned to her patrons, as she had known to leave them alone until their glasses were nearly empty then she'd quietly appear and replace if asked. How she missed this one he didn't know, probably because he downed it so quickly.

With his drink now refreshed he nodded to Belle to give her toast.

"To ghosts of our shitty pasts, and to the wraiths our futures, we will show each other no pity but embrace whatever comes with ferocity and fervor.  _Slàinte_!"

" _Slàinte_ ," he answered and they downed their drinks. She coughed a bit finishing her drink. "I'm going to go out on a limb her dearie, but I think and not just based on that horrendous toast, that you drunk."

She made a face at him, "No, I'm not drunk, but I am getting tipsy. Perhaps we should call it a night?"

"I couldn't think of a better idea. Will you allow me to walk you home?" He refused to let her pay for her drinks; he was still a gentleman after all.

"The shop is quite a walk past the B&B, I will be fine, but thank you."

He picked up her coat to help her into it, "I would like to walk you, I would feel better, if you'll allow it."

He picked up his cane and she tipped her head at him again as they left the pub into the astonishingly late night.

"For a man who's nickname is Crocodile you're a surprisingly warm blooded man."

"Oh dearie, I'm not a man, I'm a beast," he grinned offering her his arm.

"So you keep trying to remind me…but I'm not believing you yet."

Her arm was warm and pleasurably heavy in the crook of his. The scotch was still rolling through him dulling the ache in his leg and cutting through the bitter coldness of the fall air. He hadn't lied when he said it changed nothing. It really didn't. He still had a duty to his client. The fact that this bewitching creature was like a laser cutting through every piece of armor he had around him did not change that. It was almost like they both had accepted their fates, accepted each other and unlike everyone else had no desire to change the other.

But that was asinine. She didn't care a whit about him, she certainly didn't feel kindly toward him, how could she? Well it wasn't going to work. She wasn't going to play him like a simpleton. Not a chance in fucking hell.

They walked in silence; he figured she was plotting her next move. Even as the thoughts formed in his mind he was dismissing them just as quick. She just didn't seem the kind to manipulate like that. What was her angle?

"Well, I assume I'll still be expecting you in the morning?" she broke through his thoughts as the reached the shop door.

"Indeed. Bright and early, I'll have two of my associates coming in also and the first showing of the space will be noon."

Belle released his arm and turned to unlock the door nodding, "Okay…"

He returned her nod and started to leave considering it his dismissal.

"Mr. Gold?"

He paused, turned around.

"Thank you. Thank you for…tonight." He watched in disbelief as she rushed forward and hugged him awkwardly. He had to lean heavily on his cane as her weight collided with his.

He stared at her in complete amazement as she let him go and rushed back into the shop. The tinkle of the bell echoed into the night.

He was so fucked. She was nothing like Milah.


	8. Messy

Belle woke the next morning with only a slight headache but an extreme load of guilt as a result of her night of drinking. Not guilt for what she had shared with Mr. Gold, that was good and precious. No, she felt extremely, horribly, guilty for skipping out on her friends. Friends that had done nothing but be there for her since forever; friends that showed her kindness and compassion, friends that truly wanted nothing more than to help her.

She sighed throwing back the covers fighting off a shiver. Her small single room apartment had a good draft no matter what it seemed. She grabbed her thick, fuzzy robe and tied it about her as she started a pot of coffee. She might love a good cup of tea but first thing in the morning she wanted coffee. Strong, strong coffee. By nature she was more a night owl, though she was blessed to be an early riser when needed, which was Monday through Saturday, when her shop was open.

Her tiny apartment kitchen was small but it functioned. She laid a couple pieces of bacon in a heated skillet and pondered the events of the night past.

It had been so…bizarre. Mr. Gold coming up to her at the docks, telling her story, drinks at the pub. His story. Oh that dear man's story… She felt tears prickle behind her eyes as she transferred the bacon to a plate and started to fry eggs in the grease. She needed the grease today as her stomach was starting to protest. Nothing for dinner and more scotch than she usually drank in a year, yes she needed grease.

How could a woman actually refuse to tell a man if she was pregnant with his child, especially if that child was killed? How could you let a man suffer for so many years, suffer so many years wondering. Never mind that he saved her life by taking the hit of the truck, crippling him for life. How could any woman be that cruel and that sadistic?

It took no real stretch of the imagination to picture Mr. Gold as less than Husband of the Year…but, seeing him as she did last night it was even less of stretch to see him as a doting, devoted, loving husband. She also had a strange feeling he would be an exceptional father. Of course she had no evidence of this at all, but something in her gut told her that though he was a loner and fierce man he could be the most dedicated family man.

The man was becoming a problem.

She sat at her square little dinning table under the window and tucked into breakfast. She was trying to remind herself of why she was supposed to hate him. But how were you supposed to hate a man doing his job? That didn't make sense. That's was like blaming the ball for breaking the window, instead of the kid that threw it.

"I'm quoting White Stripes? Really Belle, get a grip on yourself," she muttered with a laugh. It was coming to that though. There was so much going on. The matter of the enigma that was Mr. Gold was rather small, in the scheme of things. He was the physical representation of her far bigger problem. It was easier to direct anger and pain at something tangible, especially since Rupert and her father weren't really options.

If she lost this, her apartment – her sanctuary and oasis, she would be stripped back nothing again, like she was 17 again and losing her entire world. Maybe it was just a small loft space with rough wood floors, exposed brick and textured walls, furnished with thrift store and hand-me-down furniture, but it was hers and she treasured it.

The wouldn't wait though she knew and waxing sadly over what she was about to lose really did no good so she washed her dishes putting them carefully away before heading to the shower.

She went through her routine just like every other day. She noticed though as she applied her minimal make-up that it wasn't as minimal as normal. A little more mascara, she actually bothered with eyeliner. She even found herself reaching for the red lipstick she had worn maybe twice since she bought it…in college. She bothered to layer lotion and perfume which she had been given by Ruby her birthday last. She normally only bothered a couple times a year, a couple special occasions. She left the bathroom hair dry and in big soft curls about her shoulders, she now needed to pick out something to wear.

Her wardrobe wasn't extensive but she had a few things she truly liked. She hated herself a little bit as she spent a little longer picking out an outfit, just as she had taken longer with her make-up and hair. She refused to think she was picking based on what "he" might possibly like. If she was, it was purely accidental and unconscious. Of course.

He seemed to favor dark colors… She wasn't opposed to that. She liked dark colors, light colors, black, and white. She felt a little daring, also completely crazy. This was crazy! She was subconsciously trying to seduce a man nearly, probably, twice her age and was in charge of selling off her world. Oh, and his nickname was Crocodile. Oh, and don't forget a self-proclaimed "monster".

Matching black lace panties and bra were good foundation choices. Never mind she had no intentions of him seeing them; they gave her a little confidence boost. Nothing wrong with feeling a little sexy and confident, she thought.

Shuffling through her clothes she pulled out a fitted, belted, dark brown wrap tweed skirt that had an elegant swath at the mid calf on one side – a gift from Mary Margaret. She tucked in a buttery creamy gold colored silk camisole with antique lace she had sewn to give the low cut a bit more modesty. Finally, a dark beige long, heavy, draped, staggered hem sweater topped the camisole. She surveyed herself happily. She looked expensive, ladylike. She looked like maybe she belonged in his world.

Pushing up the sleeves of the sweater to her elbows she brought out her small, well loved, very treasured bits of jewelry. Most of it was costume jewelry that had belonged her mother, and a few pieces she had collected over the years. She pulled out her mothers pearl necklace and stud earrings, her favorite pieces and donned them. She felt like she could run the world as she slipped on her favorite lace pumps and locked the door of the apartment behind her as she left.

* * *

Early morning faded very quickly as she readied teakettles and dusted nearly immaculate shelves. Each minute that ticked by seemed to sound loudly in her chest. She tried to keep from looking out the window every five seconds but was failing miserably. She was torn between being terrified to see him coming up to the store and brining with him the first horsemen of her doomsday and also looking forward to seeing him again. Dr. Hopper would have a field day with that she was sure but she believed that certain people were drawn to other certain people. It was fanciful and the stuff of fairy tales, but still she believed it to her very marrow. Something about herself called and felt at home with his. She wasn't sure what it was yet but it was something. Something that felt right.

Her ponderings had distracted her enough that she nearly jumped out of her skin when the door chimed arrivals.

Mr. Gold crossed the threshold first. Wearing another impeccable suit, this one black, dark gold raw silk shirt with matching tie and pocket square a shade darker then his shirt. She couldn't help notice that they were perfectly complimentary. They were dressed like a matched set. It was almost unsettling.

"Good morning Ms. French."

She was already smiling despite herself, "Mr. Gold," she nodded then tipped her head, "But we agreed, you'll call me Belle."

He didn'y seem inclined to smile as easily as he had the night before she noticed. It was somewhat sad, she thought some of the invisible lines of propriety had slipped back up as they slept.

"So we did… Ms. Belle French let me introduce you to my associates," he had moved out of the door to allow two dramatically different men entrance.

"This is Lucian Lumière, he is a book wholesaler, and he is here to look at the inventory."

"Nice to meet you Ms. French," the gentleman reached to shake her hand.

Belle looked up, and up and up. The man was easily 6'6" and so skinny if he turned sidewise you would lose him. Bright red-blond hair and was catching sunlight and glowing like a flame, the hand that he extended was attached to arm ridiculously long and lanky. The man was scrawny giant, but his smile was warm and genuine.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Lumière, please call me Belle."

Mr. Gold quickly turned to the other gentleman, "This is Peter Cogsworth, and he is an antiques dealer and will going over your items for auction."

Mr. Cogsworth was the polar opposite to Mr. Lumière. He was just even with her height, which in heels she was 5'5. As thick and square as a grandfather clock, dark brown hair that was given to curl at the ends, a thick dark brown handlebar mustache. Both men were in suits, which somehow seemed to both compliment and exaggerated their very extreme figures.

"And nice to meet you Mr. Cogsworth," she smiled shaking his hand.

"A pleasure Ms. Belle."

The situation did seem a bit odd. She was welcoming in men that were to begin dismantling her store like new friends but, she internally ruminated, good manners no matter the situation were always in style.

The four of them now stood in awkward silence. She felt she probably should offer to help them find what they needed since that is what she would normally do with people that came through her door but that was obviously just not going to happen. She wouldn't deliberately make life difficult; she would be kind and mannerly but wasn't going to help them sell everything off!

"Belle, why don't we start with the books in back, those are the most valuable aye?" Mr. Gold sought her eye contact.

She looked at him biting her lip and her gaze darted between Lumière and Cogsworth, she had no choice she knew. He had made his request gently, kindly which somehow she appreciated but also somewhat resented. She was a big girl; she didn't need to be coddled. "Of course," she nodded and turned to lead the way.

"I wanted to speak to you about some of these books actually…" she turned around to speak. It was incredibly hard she realized, to form words, to form coherent sentences when all her focus she realized was on the sounds of the two men towards the front of the store moving things about. It was distracting as hell.

"Alright?" Mr. Gold promoted as the silence stretched.

She forced her attention back, "A few of these books belonged to my mother. They are the most valuable volumes I have in the story. I parted with a few when I needed to start the store… I sold them to get stock, the shelves and to float the shop after my father turned the shop over to me. I know from what you said yesterday and I'm aware of the deals that were made that I no longer have rights to any current assets of store…but I am asking, is there anyway that you wait on selling the few books that remain of my mothers so that I might have a chance to buy them?" she rushed her words out, regretting that she probably sounded pleading and desperate.

But she was. "I documented all the books I personally put into inventory and noted which belong to my mother… It is one thing my father was good at all, keep records…" she tried to stop talking, she was rambling, but she couldn't.

He wasn't saying anything! He was standing there hands folded over what she rather randomly noticed was a gold cane today, yesterday it had been silver. What an odd thing to notice, she thought.

His eyes were holding her kindly though the rest of his body language gave nothing away. Lord she wished he'd say something!

"I know that probability is that you could get more than what they'll appraise at if they go to auction but I will, somehow, come up with what ever the books appraise for… Please just let me have the first chance to buy them?"

Gold for his part was still silent.

"Say something…please?"

* * *

The fact was he couldn't. He physically could not open his mouth. Never before in his life had he felt like he did at this precise moment. There was a gnawing, almost debilitating need in him to save her. He, if asked, would have personally purchased the entire business and given the deed on a silver platter. In that moment with her blue eyes shinning and trying to hide the pleasing he felt larger than life and smaller than a beetle. No female before had ever rendered him helpless, but it remained that this woman had discovered his Achilles heel.

She was rational. She was kind. She didn't whine or complain. She didn't throw temper tantrums or blame the world like so many did. Never had he come across a person that was this…rational. He had fired, laid off, sold off, auctioned off and personally delivered the news that destroyed lives and every single one lost their cool in some manner. Belle French was a different breed. She was trying to do the best she knew how. She was trying salvage what she could but without excuses or demands. She had welcomed him and his associates in with grace and a smile. She was no asking that she simply be given an opportunity to save her mothers books.

And he could not answer her.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to buy them himself and give them to her. He wanted to say that no matter what she would not lose those books.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because his duty was to his client. His duty was to make every single dollar for his client that he could. To sell the books back to Belle French without letting them go to auction would potentially lose money for Rupert Gaston. He would be negligent if he didn't seek top dollar.

Right?

It would also be a sign of weakness. If he began to cut corners and give in to her… What if this was a ploy? What if she was playing a game? Play upon emotion and sympathy? She was using him surely, that is what this was about.

But dammit he was the damn Crocodile! He was heartless and cold-blooded; he wouldn't, nay, he couldn't be played for a sap, he would not stand for.

He tried to open his mouth to deny her, to call her on her failed plan but he could not open his mouth. His body and his mind…and the damned traitorous heart that suddenly decided it wasn't as dead as it led him to believe, were at war. His entire being was short-circuiting because of this woman.

She was twisting her hands nervously, biting her lip. He saw tears forming and watched as she blinked rapidly to keep them back. He wanted so badly to reach forward and touch her. He gripped his cane tighter, gripped it until the crocodile handle he was sure was imprinted into his skin.

_Open your bloody mouth and speak you git!_ He chided himself. He managed to wet paper dry lips.

It was a start.

"I can give you a week. All items will then go to auction."

Belle must have decided he wasn't going to answer, as she seemed to start by the sound of his voice. He was actually rather startled himself; he honestly was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to get back his speech. He was actually kind of surprised he had come up with a solution.

He saw an emotion he was sure of flash across her face. Anger? Disappointment? Relief? It was something but it was fleeting.

"If that is what you can give me…I'll take it."

He nodded and his body relaxed. She didn't sound angry. He really didn't want to upset her, he truly didn't. The idea of hurting her was truly painful to him. As fickle as his mind was concerning her, it trusted her one minute, came to it's senses the next, he truly wished no ill-will on this woman. He also, though he didn't really think his mind was ready to accept it yet, desired her approval. Desired to please her. He wanted to hand her world in that brief moment she had asked for something so simple…

Why wasn't she asking him to save her? That truly was what was bothering him he finally realized. From the beginning she never asked for reprieve. She asked if she would have the chance at the end to but the business back if the money had…what, magically arrived? She hadn't specified, but she had never asked him to reprieve her. Never asked for a deal from him. People always did, he always denied them of course as they never had any proposition that intrigued him, but they always asked.

She didn't. Why?

_You told her that it was impossible…remember? You told her there was no chance and it was no use trying…you stupid old fool._

He frowned deeply. He wanted her to ask. He wanted to save her, give her a deal… But only if she asked, he couldn't do otherwise.

What a bloody, fucking mess.


	9. Quirks

The day moved faster than Belle was thinking it was going to and she was grateful. A few customers came in and Lucian and Peter, as they had insisted she call them were actually very enjoyable people. If it wasn't that the task was as daunting and as horrid as it was she would have truly enjoyed the day.

The parts that were upsetting more so then the actual task of sorting books were the times when she found herself in extremely close proximity to Mr. Gold. So near him she felt the warm heat of his body, so near that she picked up faint traces of cologne. Good, expensive...wonderfully sexy cologne. Her sense of smell had always been especially strong and a trigger for her. She found herself unconsciously wanting to follow him around the store. Yet, being near him also made strange butterflies leap and dance in her stomach, made her breathing quicken and her heart race like Wild E. Coyote. She found herself blushing when she found his gaze steady on her. She found herself wondering what his kiss would taste like.

She began to think she was as bad as Emma. Belle wasn't 15 though, she was turning 27 come January and she was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to fall for the right man, ever learn to love like an adult and quit this game of believing in true love. She fell too easy, she knew that, she had only fallen a couple of times though – she was careful to guard her heart very carefully. Well, not carefully enough obviously. Mr. Gold was really not a man she should let too close.

"Belle...?" Belle paused hearing her name as she was boxing books in the back corner, she had forgotten about Emma. She still hadn't told her about Mr. Gold and the problems. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Mr. Gold who had been making lists of the volumes and making notes on conditions and his monetary appraisal quirked an eyebrow at her in question.

"My best friends daughter... You probably know her from the store files...she helps me out part time. You might as well come meet her." She stood and waited to see if Mr. Gold would follow her, he did.

"Well hello Miss Emma, how was school today?" she tried to sound as pleasant as possible.

"You stood us up last night, what was up with that?" Emma leaned against the counter her long blond hair in a ponytail, she peered at Belle with question though the black rimmed glasses lessened the power of the penetrating gaze. It, however, did nothing to lessen the accusatory tone.

"I did, and I'm sorry...I just really wasn't feeling well..." Belle hated lying and she really wasn't good at it.

"Mama doesn't think you were sick...she thinks you were too embarrassed to let everyone help you with the store. She says this... I'm assuming you're him?" Emma looked at Mr. Gold standing behind Belle.

"Emma, this is Mr. Gold. Mr. Gold, Emma Nolan," Belle rushed introductions.

"Yep you're him...you're not as intimidating as Ruby and Mama made you sound."

Belle glanced nervously at Mr. Gold not knowing how he was going to take Emma being so bold, she doubted he was used to that. The girl was a well mannered girl, but took too much after the adults that raised her. Bless her heart.

"I am dearie, but I promise, you'll find me intimidating enough over time. You know they say I steal babies and slay unicorns...oh and that I am secretly the Loch Ness Monster in my off time..." Mr. Gold gave a flippant gesture and a smirk.

Emma to Belle's surprise hesitated only a moment before laughing loudly.

"I like you. You're a bad judge of character to be working with that bastard Gaston..."

"Emma Marie Nolan! Watch your language!" Belle scolded horrified.

"Sorry...but he is... I read about you last night Mr. Gold, you're ruthless. I even read about some of your cases when you were practicing law... You're brilliant too. Why would you help someone like Gaston?"

Belle closed her eyes fingers pressing into her forehead, swearing she could feel a headache coming on. What in the world was with everyone Googling every single thing about every single thing! And Emma? What was getting into this girl?

She chanced a glance at Mr. Gold. He had what she was coming to think of as his "trademark" smirk in place, but he gave nothing away.

"You're an inquisitive and forward lass aren't you my dear? To answer your question, I am working with Mr. Gaston because I am a business man, this is what I do. I make things happen for the people that come to me...simple as that. I'm not one to judge, I simply facilitate deals."

Emma folded her arms and looked him overly solemnly.

"No one is truly apathetic or without an agenda. You came here personally, there has a got to be a reason...I'm going to find out. The cases you tried, the big name clients you've taken on, there is a pattern there, I haven't figured it out yet – but I will and I still like you though, you're gritty. I don't trust you...but, you've got style."

"Okay Emma, I think that is enough. Why don't you go get ready for story time, hm?"

Belle finally broke in not being able to listen to more. It wasn't that Emma was wrong, she had figured out Mr. Gold had some personal reason for being here, but she didn't think tipping her hand this soon was smart. Sometimes she wished Emma would learn a bit of prudence, but it was done and so be it.

Emma shrugged and paused as she was about to pass Mr. Gold, "It is nice to meet your Mr. Gold...and I'd like to talk to you about being a lawyer sometime, I want to go to law school," she stuck out her hand.

"I've a feeling you'd make a fine lawyer Miss Nolan, and the pleasure is mine," Mr. Gold shook the girls hand.

"Sorry about that. She gets very feisty sometimes, especially since she's decided being a lawyer is her passion, she wants to argue everything. She still is only 15 though, just yesterday she was all...twitterpated over a boy. Please don't be offended by her exuberance," Belle rushed, she really didn't need tension between them for the next few weeks.

"Not offended in the slightest, I found her, as you say, exuberance refreshing. Young people today don't always have the tenacity to be forthright and outspoken. I thought she stood up to me admirably and well prepared. She also did so with a grace that I found a bit reminiscent of you Ms. French. She would indeed make a fine attorney if she decides to peruse it."

Belle opened her mouth to say something but found she really didn't know what to say. It was possibly one of the most...human things she had heard him say.

"We agreed, my name is Belle." Well, she had to say something.

"So it is, so it is..." Mr. Gold almost laughed.

Belle narrowed her eyes, he was suddenly in the strangest of good humors, it didn't fit.

"You know...if the babe had been born, and I'd of been the father she might have been around Emma's age, a couple years older but right about there. I would have been proud if my daughter had stood up for a friend that way."

Belle had to sit and she so sat on the first and nearest thing there, one of the wall ladders and felt like someone had knocked her knees. She was beginning to think she liked the man as a beast better. This was too human. Did he just say Emma reminded him of the child he never had? The poor, dear man. What was she supposed to do? She was falling harder and harder for this beast every time she turned around. His story was tragic and humbling, his loyalty impressive and despite that his job was to devastate her he was an honorable man that did a dirty job nobody wanted and nobody liked. Bless his heart.

"Emma is truly a special young woman. Her mother is a teacher at Storybrooke Elementary and her dad is the veterinarian...though has decided to run for Storybrooke sheriff next term, which is why I think Emma has a new found interest in the law."

Mr. Gold nodded looking thoughtful.

"Well, I'm not sure what else you were hoping to accomplish today since Lucian and Peter have gone with their load and we've nearly boxed up everything we can today... I have to finish story time with Emma and then close up. You're of course welcome to stay but..." she found herself suddenly struggling for words.

"Belle, until this month ends this is still your store. You can ask me not to come in at all, legally you still have the right to bar me from here... I wouldn't recommend it as it would make things terribly messy and I don't think you'd like the outcome, but you don't have to walk on eggshells if you desire me to leave, I might be something of a tyrant but I'm not completely devoid of empathy."

If she wasn't still sitting she'd have to sit again as her knees surely wouldn't hold her upright.

"I'm not going to lie Mr. Gold, you're confusing me a lot right now. One minute you are a tyrant and the next you're being nice. I'm really not sure what to do with all that."

He smiled wryly at her, "That is up to you dearie, but all the same I am going to finish my notes on the last batch of books then go to Granny's for super..." he trailed off and she looked at him expectantly. "If you'd like to join me for dinner," he added. Her heart skipped a beat and it was only as her lungs began to sting from the sudden denial of oxygen that she began to breathe again. Was he asking her out? Well not really asking her out...but he was willing and without reason asking her to keep his company!

"Lucian and Peter will also be there...of course."

This dampened her spirits just a bit but nevertheless she was glad he had asked her.

"I'm not sure, I might have to smooth things out with my friends, but I do truly appreciate the offer. Truly."

His face when to a blank slate and she worried that she had wounded him with her refusal. She'd like nothing more she admitted to herself to spend the evening with him again but she couldn't be naïve, she also could let things stand with her friends. From the way Emma had spoken Mary Margaret had already guessed at her true motives which, strangely made her feel better.

"What about tomorrow, we could have breakfast? Emma opens for me Saturday mornings...I still have to be here since she's only 15 but we could have tea maybe and..." she could have slapped herself if she thought it would make her stop talking. Was she now asking him out now? Heaven help her!

"That would be lovely...Belle."

She felt her heart soar as his devastatingly sexy brogue caressed her name. Was she really doing this? Was she really falling for this man?

All signs pointed to yes.

 

* * *

Mr. Gold hadn't left by the time she was ready to close for the day which made her smile. She found the idea of parting company, even if only for the evening somewhat sad. She truly was starting to appreciate his presence, as strange as that was.

Emma finished putting up the story time items and Mr. Gold in an act of truly gentlemanly behavior was helping her and Emma with their coats when the door chime announced an arrival.

"Ms. French?" a young man stood in the entryway.

Belle who had been watching Emma and Mr. Gold was taken by surprise to see Emma immediately redden.

The young man had dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He was tall, clearing six foot she'd wager, lean but muscled. He wore well cut jeans, and dark grey polo under his heavy jacket. His quirked smile reminded her of something, or maybe someone, but she couldn't put her finger on it presently.

"Good afternoon...we're just closing but what can I help you with?" she smiled, she knew instantly that this had to be Emma's Neal.

"I know and I'm sorry ma'am, I had to help my mom at the stables, I got here soon as I could...you might not remember me but I'm Neal Cassidy...you actually used to baby sit me when I was younger."

Belle was completely impressed with his manners and his shy smile, Emma had chosen well. Speaking of Emma, where was the girl!

"Of course! You've grown so much, I hardly recognize you!" she had always been the emotional kind and reached to hug the young man that practically towered over her, making her feel incredibly short and incredibly old.

"What can we do for you then Mr. Cassidy?" she tried to discreetly search for Emma without tipping off Neal.

She found her cowering behind Mr. Gold on the other side of a bookshelf. She internally sighed. For all of Emma's bravado with Mr. Gold and her big talk when it came down to it the boy she had a crush on Emma was hopelessly 15.

Yet, it strangely wasn't Emma's face that caught her the most by surprise. Mr. Gold was looking quite pale, like he might faint...like perhaps he had just seen a ghost.

"Mr. Gold, are you alright?" she was starting to worry as he didn't even turn to look at her when she spoke.

"Emma, please come help Mr. Cassidy..." Belle gave Emma a strong pointed look when Emma looked ready to bolt.

"Mr. Gold, why don't you come with me..." Belle guided Mr. Gold to the back to the sitting area and prodding him into sitting.

"Are you unwell? Do I need to call Dr. Whale?" she kneeled in front of him.

This seemed to prod him into speaking. "No, no...I am quite...well." His eyes had a far off look to them.

"It's just the boy...the boy reminded me so strongly of someone it caught me quite off guard."

Belle regarded him, he still hadn't met her gaze.

"It was so strange...he really... I don't know what it was. The eyes maybe, or his shoulders. For a second I could have..." his voice wandered off and his gaze shifted down to meet her face.

"Fanciful really, I'm sorry to have worried you my dear," he gave a quirked smile.

Quirked smile...why was that standing out in her mind again... It was almost there, right there on the tip of her mind.

"Who did he remind you of?" she asked still knelt in front of him.

"Oh, no one really, silly actually..." he evaded her.

"You might as well tell me, I won't let up til you do."

He laughed at that, a slow easy sound that lightened the mood.

"I don't believe you would... Well I'm going to blame it on our discussion of Emma, but the young lad reminded me much of myself at that age, though he's decidedly taller. Lucky brute."

Her heart about broke at that. Neal would have been as old as the child his wife had lost, and with all the conversations about it lately it was only natural that it should trigger something. Not knowing what was possessing her she leaned up and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry Mr. Gold."

Unlike the night before he didn't hesitate as he wrapped his arms around her.

At the sound of Emma's footsteps they broke apart. She stood and brushed the last of her tears away hoping her makeup wasn't ruined.

"Belle!" Emma shrieked clapping her hands, obliviously to anything that had been happening between her and Mr. Gold.

"You'll never guess!" Emma almost danced as she grinned.

"Well if I'll never guess you better just tell me, hm?" Belle couldn't help but smile even if she had been crying seconds before. What a seesaw of emotions today!

"Well, Neal came in looking for a book on Morgans, the stables just bought a pair and he hasn't trained them before... Anyway we got to talking about school...and he asked me if I was going to the Harvest Dance...and I said no, no one had asked me yet and he said...Oh Belle do you know what he said?!" Emma's face couldn't have lit up more if it was lit internally by a flame.

"I'm wagering it wasn't his opinion on the weather then?" Belle smirked.

Emma rolled her eyes dramatically, "No! He said that since he hadn't really met a lot of people in Storybrooke that he might go...and maybe I'd like to go too, to introduce him to people!"

Belle bit her lip. "Emma darling, that is really wonderful!" she couldn't help thinking what David might have to say. Emma hadn't shown a great interest in dating but she knew too that Mary Margaret and David told her she couldn't date until she was 16. This could get...interesting to say the least.

"Yes! Oh I hope he really asks me...and I hope daddy lets me go!" Emma sighed a dreamy look over taking her face.

Belle smiled and put an around the younger woman's shoulders. "Well, I'm thinking we...you, Mr. Gold and I should celebrate with a root beer float down at Sara's. Don't you think Mr. Gold?" she had decided that she couldn't send him back to the B&B after the start he just had.

Mr. Gold opened his mouth to reply and she judged by the look that he was going to refuse, she couldn't allow that, "Come Mr. Gold, I think you'll drive us as it is a little bit of a walk and the weather looks nasty."

Mr. Gold seemed to do his best not to look shocked, but failed. Belle was pleased that he no longer appeared willing to argue and followed them as the exited the building.

"Ladies," Mr. Gold led the way to his car after Belle had finished locking up the store.

"Wow, a Jag, awesome car Mr. Gold!" Emma admired circling the black beast.

"It's a rental," he deadpanned opening the door for Belle and Emma in turn.

"So what do you normally drive?" Emma asked once everyone was in the car.

"I have a car service in Boston but I am somewhat partial to my Hillman Imp."

Belle's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"What in the world is a Hillman Imp?" Emma was incredulous.

Mr. Gold sniggered, "It is a beastly little midge of a car, I'm partial because it was assembled in Linwood Scotland, my father used to work on the assembly line actually, while attending college in Glasgow."

Belle could hardly picture the elegant, refined, Jaguar driving Mr. Gold in an Imp, but it almost, almost suited his more hidden personality she thought. There was something impish and roguish about him, if you didn't think too hard about it.

"I actually have something of a collection of cars. The pride of which is an Argyll Voiturette, another Scottish manufactured car. My family was very blue collar you see, my grandfather on my mother's side worked at the manufacturing headquarters."

Belle was too shocked really to say anything. The man confusing the hel – heck, out of her. He goes from stoic, silent, professed beast to practically reciting his family history for Emma.

"Wow, that is like so awesome! Isn't that awesome Belle?" Emma was leaning forward so she could look between the seats, taking part in the conversation.

"It is indeed..." Belle murmured.

"I can get my driving permit in the spring. Well, I could technically get it now but my mom doesn't want me learning to drive in the middle of winter. I told my dad I really want a pickup, but I've a feeling he is going to give me mom's old yellow Bug." Emma sighed, "Not that I'm not grateful! I mean a car is a car...and if they do give me the Bug it beats having to save up for a car."

Belle smiled, pleased to hear that. Emma certainly knew the value of hard work and didn't expect to be handed everything, which made her very proud of the girl. Some teenagers Belle found to be entirely demanding and entitled.

"There it is, right there on the left," Belle pointed to the small ice cream shop as they approached.

"Excellent, and I'll have you know Miss Emma my first car was a bicycle, so I would say a Volkswagen Beetle is a step up."

Emma giggled as they excited the car.

Sara's Ice Cream Shop was small and the windows were decorated with bright cheery painting of Hansel & Gretel and the candy land gingerbread house. It looked wonderfully inviting.

"What business is that?" Mr. Gold stopped Belle with a hand on her arm before they entered.

"Hm?" she look at where he was pointing, a small shop three doors down.

"Oh, that. Used to be a pawnshop – antique store place. Closed about three years ago I guess."

"I see," he mused quietly and followed her into the shop.


	10. Feels

Belle walked from the ice cream parlor with Emma, Mr. Gold headed toward the B&B. They had parted awkwardly, it seemed neither of them knew how to act. Emma with her usual guile simply thanked Mr. Gold for the root bear floats (he insisted that a gentleman should pick up the tab since he'd had the pleasure of such delightful company, and who could argue that?) and said they'd see him tomorrow. Belle hadn't known what to say really, she thanked him too of course, and told him she was going with Emma to have dinner with the Nolan's, to make up for missing before.

She had watched his face intensely looking for emotions, some hint of what he was thinking. After learning some of his sad past she couldn't help wanting to protect the man. Another of her quirks she supposed, always protecting those she thought needed it, especially if they made every attempt to appear they didn't.

"We're still on for breakfast thought? I thought I'd make French toast...it's sort of a family thing," she laughed nervously.

"I'd like that..." he had trailed off but held her gaze, "very much."

She smiled then blushed attention suddenly diverted, "Come on Belle, you know how mom gets if we're late and you're already in the dog house." Emma was tugging on her coat.

"I have to go...tomorrow, 7?" her body was turned toward Emma but her gaze was still trained on the man.

"Of course, go Ms. French, you don't need to get into any more trouble," he chuckled softly.

She nodded, "Belle – really, you are a forgetful man," she laughed.

It was an effort to actually turn her body and walk away, but she did. What was wrong with her?

It took all her will to not look back.

* * *

"Well she has a crush on Mr. Gold!" Emma cried pointing at Belle with her fork.

"What? I do not!" Belle immediately flushed bright red even as she denied the allegation.

Mary Margaret and David at the respective ends of the small dining table exchange looks.

"Emma, we are not talking about Belle at the moment, we are talking about you," David raised his eyebrows at his daughter.

"But we'll be talking to you later," Mary Margaret directed to Belle, adding her own meaningful look.

"You're only 15, he's 17 – turning 18 next month. I don't know that I'm comfortable with that, and you know the rule. It's always been no dating until you're 16. Now we're reasonable people though so if you can give us a compelling case we will consider it," David glanced to his wife and she nodded in the affirmative.

Emma looked thoroughly dejected, "Fine. First, I have excellent grades. Straight A's even in Home Ec, which you know Mom, means something considering Mrs. Briers can't boil water without burning it..."

"Don't talk about your teachers that way Emma," Mary Margaret chastised. David raised an eyebrow at her. The woman in fact couldn't boil water.

"Sorry...but I have straight A's. I help out Belle at the shop during the week and on Saturdays. I also babysit. I never break curfew or do anything remotely wrong, I just want to go on this date with Neal... One date, and I'll be 16 in just a few months..."

David actually laughed, "Sweetheart you're barely 15 and a half."

"Well 6 months  _is_ a few," Emma folded her arms and tipped her chin up.

"You do make valid points honey and we are very proud of the young woman you are...We'll truly think about it. Right now I think it might improve your chances if you volunteer to clear the table and start the dishes while your father and I talk with Belle."

Emma looked like she wanted to argue or at least complain but she bit her tongue and rose to start gathering dishes. She might have muttered something about only being free child labor but if anyone heard they didn't comment.

"Belle, why don't we go in the living room?" Mary Margaret phrased it as a question but there wasn't any question about it.

The three retired to the living room, Mary Margaret and David on the sofa and Belle feeling a little bit on the hot seat sat in the overstuff reading chair.

"We know you're in trouble with the store and obviously what this Mr. Gold is doing here, we want to help – in any way we can, but we can't if you don't talk to us," David wasted no time in cutting to the chase.

Belle shifted her weight and clenched her hands together, "I appreciate that...more than you know. You guys have always looked out for me, always...and you know I appreciate it," Belle faltered. Maybe it was everything finally settling over her now that she was away from the store...and Mr. Gold. Maybe it was because she was back in the only true home she had known since her mother had passed, there was safety and comfort here among those she called not just friends but family, and in some ways second parents – whatever it was she felt tears starting to pool behind her eyes.

"There is nothing, nothing in the world I can do!" she squeezed her eyes shut and despite her best efforts felt the tears spill down her face. "I've talked to Mr. Gold...I talked with an attorney in Boston. I just don't have any options and it's...I'm scared."

Mary Margaret, always the mother figure was pulling Belle into her arms before Belle had even realized Mary Margaret had left the sofa.

"I knew...I knew this was coming, I did but I didn't know how to stop it. I thought I could recover from all of Daddy's debts and fix this...I thought I could! Now I'm losing everything! Everything! My little bit of savings, my credit...I will probably lose the last of Momma's books! I'm not even 27 yet and I've destroyed my life!" Belle had tears streaming down her face which was buried against Mary Margaret's shoulder.

Mary Margaret patted Belle's back and smoothed her hair. She let her cry until small hiccups came.

"All done?"

Belle nodded and pulled away wiping at her eyes, "Yeah..."

"Okay, good. Now enough of that! No more of this crying... You need to buck up and take back control, okay?" Mary Margaret squeezed Belle's arm.

Belle nodded and laughed softly, still rubbing at her eyes.

"Mary Margaret is right, we will help. This isn't the end of the world. Since we put the addition over the garage last summer the Mother-in-Law apartment is almost completely finished, you would have your own entrance and space for as long as you wanted it," David handed the women a box of tissues. Belle was surprised to see tears in Mary Margaret's eyes too.

"That's right, and I was talking with Principal Poppins yesterday, they really need a history teacher for 12th grade for at least the next couple semesters since Mrs. Gans is taking time off to have her baby... If we really can't save your shop we'll help you rebuild, promise."

Belle starting crying again and hugged Mary Margaret. It was such an incredible relief, such a weight off her shoulders. She had been terrified and didn't know how to ask for help. She had been doing so well in front of Mr. Gold and everyone else, but there was something about letting her guard down and letting, just for a while, someone else take care of her, share her burden, that was an incredible relief.

"I don't know what to say...I'm just..."

"You're family Belle, and family sticks together no matter what," David smiled.

"That's right, no matter what. I'm not saying we're giving up on the shop, we're still working on that, but you have a backup plan with us," Mary Margaret echoed.

Mary Margaret sent David to the kitchen for tea.

"Now, it's time for us girls to talk...Is it true? What Emma said, do you have a crush on this Mr. Gold?" Mary Margaret pulled Belle with her to the sofa and curled up, legs tucked up under her.

Belle, even with tears staining her face blushed red and had a small smile starting.

"I don't know if crush is right...but I don't know, there  _is_ something with him. It's crazy I know. But sometimes when he looks at me, when I look into those eyes it's like I've known him my whole life. Like he's the one I've been waiting for. He quirks his smile in just a way that some times is heartbreaking and pure joy at the same time... I think about him now all the time. He's so easy to talk to and he doesn't judge or pity me, even knowing everything with my dad. I know it's only been a couple days but...I don't know, maybe it is a crush...maybe it's something like early on-set Stockholm Syndrome, I don't know," Belle laughed nervously, "but yeah, I think it's something."

Mary Margaret laughed but quickly covered it with her hand, "Oh Belle...you're almost as bad as Emma!"

Belle groaned and hit Mary Margaret with a throw pillow. "I know! I mean... _I know_ , andit's horrifying. I mean it's not sane! ...is it?" Belle ended just a bit hopeful.

"Well honestly, no it doesn't sound sane, but I've learned to never exclude anything. Are you sure that you're not just stressed out and you're just enjoying the attention of a man? It's been a long time since Rupert."

Belle rolled her eyes, "It's not like that...at all. Have you seen Mr. Gold?"

Mary Margaret tipped her head and narrowed her eyes, "No, why?"

"Well he's older...probably 20 years older than me. He was injured as many years ago and has a small limp and walks with a cane. He's a bit...acerbic and maybe a little cold."

With every word Mary Margaret's face seemed to fall though she struggled to hide it.

"Oh, and he's Scottish!"

Mary Margaret shook her head, "Oh Belle, I don't know what to say. Are you sure you want to get involved with this? This could go really bad."

"I'm not sure, I didn't plan it. I didn't mean for there to be feelings and I don't have any idea if he has any feelings for me like I do for him. I mean I think there is something, but he doesn't seem awfully relationship oriented...least not that Google could tell me..."

"You Googled his relationships?! Belle!" Mary Margaret laughed sounding horrified.

"Well! I needed to know, or wanted to...either way."

"20 years is big gap, have you thought about that?"

"I have and I know it's not something to just ignore but...This might, maybe could be..." Belle bit her lip trailing off.

After a moment Mary Margaret spoke, trying to sound sure, "Okay, we'll give him a chance before we call the town to form a mob to hunt him down," she squeezed Belle's hand.

The ladies sat hand-n-hand as David brought in tea in large stoneware mugs.

"Did I miss anything?" he beamed passing a blue mug to Belle and a pink one to Mary Margaret.

"Not really," Mary Margaret and Belle shared a smile.

"Good, think we should talk about Emma?" David kicked back in Belle's vacated chair.

The ladies nodded.

"I think we should let her go," Mary Margaret said firmly.

David raised an eyebrow, "We hardly know him. He's 17! Do you know what boys are like at 17?"

"I have an idea," she crinkled her nose at him and winked, they had been dating at 17, "and we might not know him overly well but I do think we know our daughter. She is right about her grades and showing she's responsible. She has been an ideal, even suspiciously perfect daughter."

David scowled, "Maybe, but she's still a teenager with all that hormonal teenage girl stuff!"

"Hormonal teenage girl stuff, huh?" Mary Margaret made a face that led David to believe he would probably be paying for that remark in someway in the future, "She isn't a baby any more honey, she's 15 and a very mature 15 at that. You can't keep her your little baby forever. She's going to start dating boys."

"Well why can't we wait 6 more months?" David pouted making Mary Margaret smother a smile.

"I think we owe her this. She's done nothing to break our trust yet and she hasn't challenged the 16 rule before."

David lifted his chin, "Fine. But I think we should invite the Cassidys for dinner. I want to get to know this boy better before we let him take out our daughter."

Mary Margaret smiled and nodded, "I think that sounds like a very reasonable and good thing to do," she looked to Belle, "We're inviting you and Mr. Gold too of course."

Belle looked horrified, "I don't think that's a good idea!"

"We're inviting him. We want to meet him...and I think he should meet us too. He needs to know that there are people who are looking out for you and that he better not hurt you, in any way."

Belle threw up her hands knowing better than to argue, "Fine!"

Mary Margaret unfolded her legs clapping her hands, "Oh, a dinner party and shopping with my daughter for her first big dance! I might cry...there is a definite chance of crying!" she laughed beaming.

"I get to go?!" Emma burst into the room.

The adults startled looking to the teenager that was too excited and happy to bother looking worried she had revealed herself to be eavesdropping.

"Emma, we've talked about you listening in on conversations you weren't invited to..." David warned.

Emma had the good sense to appear chastised, "Yes sir, but to be fair...I wasn't specifically uninvited either."

Mary Margaret covered a snicker with an ostentatious cough.

"Emma..." David drew out his daughter's name.

"Yes Dad, I'm sorry...but since I overhead it anyway, is it true? Do I get to go with Neal?"

"Your mother and I have tentatively agreed to let you go with Neal, yes..."

Emma shrieked happily.

"But, we want to get to know him and his mother so we're going to have them over for dinner."

"Oh  _thank you_ , Daddy!" Emma hugged her father fiercely, "Thank you Mom!" she turned to her mother.

"Okay, okay...enough of that. Did you get the kitchen cleaned up for your mother?" David asked with mock sternness.

"Yes, sir," Emma beamed, nothing was going to dim her happiness.

"Why don't we go shopping tomorrow, after you guys close up? We can maybe start looking a dress and talk about the dinner... What day should we do it?" Mary Margaret was clearly in her element.

"We close at 1 tomorrow, and if you're determined to invite Mr. Gold I will ask him what works for him," Belle resigned herself.

"Oh perfect! And yes, I am very determined."

Belle sighed, "Alright, well it's late I really need to get back. Thank you guys...for everything. Truly I don't deserve you."

"Don't be silly, we love you. Don't ever forget that. Lots of people love you...and we'll figure this all out. I promise," Mary Margaret hugged Belle again.

"It's true, now grab your coat and I'll drive you home," David rose grabbing his own coat and keys.

"See you in the morning, Em and congrats on your first big date," Belle winked and Emma blushed.

"Night Belle, you know I love you too...even if you are going all ga-ga over that Beast," Emma rolled her eyes and smiled at her.

Belle breathed in shoulders rising. Maybe it was a little like Beauty & the Beast, or maybe she was just that far-gone to the side of crazy.


	11. Dress-Up

"There you are! I was beginning to think you forgot about breakfast!" Belle beamed at she sat plates down on one of the few remaining antique tables, just as Mr. Gold came into sight.

Mr. Gold smiled, smiled a bit sadly she thought and that made her pause, "Something wrong this morning?" she felt herself frown with worry.

Mr. Gold paused, tipped his head slightly and gave her a small tight smile, "Of course not my dear." He blinked at her and his face changed to show a small but genuine smile, "Smells absolutely delicious."

Belle smiled proudly, "Thank you, I think it'll taste pretty good too," she motioned for him to sit, "I already made sure to feed our little helper today," Belle joined him with a nod toward the front of the store when Emma was manning the counter.

"Indeed."

Belle poured tea remembering how he took it.

"So...I have something I need to ask you," Belle fidgeted with her fork.

Mr. Gold lifted an eyebrow, "Oh? What dearie, is that?" he leaned back in his chair.

"Well, my friends, the Nolans – Emma's parents, want to have a dinner party and...and well they'd sort of like you to come," Belle rushed, her words running painfully together. She was scared to look at him and she bit her lip.

Mr. Gold, for his part was terribly curious, he, out of habit, reached for his cane that was leaning against his chair and folded his hands over it, "Why ever would they want that?" His head tipped and he leaned forward, seeking her eye contact.

Belle ventured a cautious look from under her lashes, "They might be under the impression, from Emma!" Belle hastily began to answer, "That I might, maybe, possibly...have something of a crush on you...and wanted to meet you...and I know that sounds just terribly silly...but they were really insistent and then there is Emma and that boy Neal...they are wanting to have him and his mother over because Emma, of course, wants to go on that date with him to the dance and they won't let her date a 17 year old, who is really almost 18, without meeting him and getting to know his parent...and you can't just have a small dinner party, I mean not with Mary Margaret! That just isn't done! Sometimes you'd think she was princess or something holding court...it's always a lavish affair..."

"Belle!" Mr. Gold finally stopped her tirade by reaching out and covering her mouth with his hand, "Stop talking," he said firmly though not at all unkindly, he wore a large, mischievous smile, "I would like nothing better to attend this, sure to be decadent, soiree."

Belle's eyes went wide even as she sat struck silent and still by his hand.

"Buttfampag," something completely intelligible came from Belle. She rolled her eyes and physically removed Mr. Gold's hand so she could speak properly, "You would?" she scrunched her brows "Why?" she was suspicious.

Mr. Gold chuckled lowly, "I'm intrigued of course. There is the mystery of why Emma believes you have this... _crush_  on me. The chance to watch a father interrogate a poor teenage boy. I rather like that Neal, he might need a bit of support. I would also indeed like to meet these friends of yours, I'm sure they'll prove as interesting as their daughter and you. Plus, there is that this town has frightfully little to do around here and the change of pace would be a highlight."

Belle took that in and then frowned at him.

"Well, there is also spending the evening in your delightful company, I would consider that a tally mark in the pro column as well," he added with a dazzling little wink.

Belle's jaw fell and she struggled to close her mouth quickly. She had been hurt that in the list of reasons why that she hadn't been among them, he had apparently read that very clearly. The wink too of course threw her, that seemed entirely unlike the Mr. Gold she had come to know.

"When will this little  _fête_ be happening?" Mr. Gold appeared to greatly delight in disrupting her equilibrium.

"Ummm," Belle found she was having a hard time remembering when."Oh! Yeah, that is what I'm supposed to be finding out from you! When are you available?"

Mr. Gold did so appear to enjoy her flustering, "For you my dear, whenever you had in mind."

Belle opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. She repeated the motion.

"Hmph, I wasn't expecting that... The dance is next weekend, otherwise we'd do it on a weekend... Maybe Thursday? I believe Mary Margaret was calling Mrs. Cassidy today. Would Thursday work if it's agreeable to everyone else?"

Mr. Gold nodded, "Of course. I'll make sure my office clears anything I might have."

"Oh! That really isn't necess ..." Belle started to protest.

"Yes, it really is," Mr. Gold quickly cut off her words emphatically.

Belle looked at him bewildered, "Okay...I'll go call Mary Margaret and let her know... Thank you," she blushed and Mr. Gold rewarded her with a large smile.

 

* * *

That afternoon the only dress shop that Storybrooke could boast was filled to the brim with women.

"I don't know, pink? Isn't that a little too pink?" Ruby was skeptical.

"I like it, it's feminine," Mary Margaret argued.

"It has a lot of...bows, not sure about that," Granny frowned.

"I think it's lovely, but what do you think Emma?" Belle observed Emma's tight lipped, forced smile.

"It's pretty but..." Emma turned to look herself over in the full length of the floor to ceiling, tri-sided mirror, "It's just a little...big."

The dress was rather...big. It was a ball gown that would have been  _en vogue_ at the Queen of England's coronation. It was a fairy tale dress to be sure, a princess dress but a little ostentatious for a Storybrooke high school dance.

"You look like a princess! Your dad would just love this...his little princess," Mary Margaret had tears in her eyes and her hands folded under her chin.

Belle looked sympathetic at Emma and quietly went to see the sisters that ran the show. She had an idea about a dress that might appease everyone.

"Merry," Belle caught the youngest sister at the counter.

"Yes? How can I help you? Are you all having a good time? Can we get you some refreshments?" the woman in her early fifties, a little round, entirely friendly and sweet hearted smiled at her.

"Oh we're doing well, thank you... Actually though, I was wondering about a dress that was in your window, oh maybe two months ago? Knee length, had somewhat a feathered skirt? Pale pink, sequined top, strapless?"

Merry pursed her lips and frowned as she thought, "I think I remember the dress, but let me see if Fawn knows where it is."

Merry bustled off toward the backroom seeking Fawn, the middle sister.

Belle sighed and ventured back to the group of women. She was almost dreading what it was going to be like when poor Emma got married. This had to be just the tip of the scales. She shuddered and took her place next to Mary Margaret.

"Oh Belle...she's just getting so big, so fast...she is nearly all grown up...my baby! Pretty soon she is going to graduating high school...going off to college...getting  _married_!" Mary Margaret clutched Belle's hand as Emma went to change out of the pink princess gown.

Belle wasn't unsympathetic in the slightest, it was startling to realize how much time has passed. She remembered Emma as a baby... Belle found tears forming in her own eyes, she was getting... _old._

"Merry and Fawn just brought me one more dress we thought Emma might like. Emma is just getting changed," Flo, the eldest sister suddenly appeared from the dressing rooms.

The ladies perked up and waited for Emma to come out.

The dress was just right.

Belle felt Mary Margaret clutch her hand a little tighter. As Belle had imagined the dress was perfect. It was princess like, it reminded her of Emma's favorite fairytale growing up, Swan Princess, with the feathers all on the skirt... it was such a pale pink that when the light caught it it was almost white. The bodice of dress gleamed and glittered. It was young but elegant. Modest but fun. She might be a touch chilly since it was more a summer dress, but Belle rather thought Emma wouldn't mind.

"I think you could pair it was a nice opaque tight and a little bolo jacket... to make it a bit warmer..." Flo clucked her tongue as she looked Emma up and down. "This is from our summer dress collection, it's called Odette. It is actually the very last one we have...it's amazing we found this one actually. It was way pushed back in our back room, and it happened to be Miss Emma's size and doesn't appear to need tailoring a bit... What good fortune," Flo beamed.

Every woman present agreed wholeheartedly.

"What do you think Emma, do you like it?" Mary Margaret and the rest the room held their breath.

"Oh momma it's perfect! Just perfect!" Emma dove from the little pedestal where she had been standing and hugged her mom fiercely.

"And, I think we can let this go for a great price...since I didn't even know we had it," Flo grinned, she always had had a soft soft for the Nolans. She had dressed Mary Margaret for her proms, her wedding. Oh yes, they were the only dress shop in town but that didn't mean she didn't have her favorites.

Belle watch very pleased then frowned when she felt her mobile vibrate in her pocket. She discretely checked it and saw that it was Mr. Gold, which was odd because she didn't remember having his number in her phone.

"I'm so sorry guys...this is kind of important, I'll be right back," Belle stood heading toward the door.

"Is everything okay Belle?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Hm? Oh, yes...I'll be just a minute," Belle waved her off with a smile and pushed through the door out onto the sidewalk.

"Hello?" she answered, folding her arms against her body in defense of the cold and she had forgot her jacket.

"Hello Belle, it's Mr. Gold...I'm sorry to be bothering you but it seems I've had an emergency come up...I won't be in town next week..."

Belle felt her heart fall and for some reason tears spring to her eyes.

"It is a messy business problem I have to deal with but I will be there for your dinner party, which actually is rather why I'm also bothering you. Have you confirmed a date? I need to have Mrs. Potts block that time as soon as possible as this... _issue,_ " he spat, "is going to sadly take most, if not all, all the rest of the week."

Belle couldn't find her voice she was so delighted. He was still going to come. It shouldn't delight her nearly as much as it did. He said that he would come and he was going to. Not only was he going to come...he was making time specifically  _for her_. He was going to put her above all else... Oh she need to get ahold of herself quickly as her silly, romantic heart was running away with her sensible mind!

"Belle? Are you there? Did I lose you?"

"What? No! I'm sorry... Dinner is at 7, Thursday," she managed a huge grin plastered on her face.

"Great, I'll make sure Mrs. Potts takes care of it..." Mr. Gold trailed and Belle got the distinct feeling that he wanted to say more.

"Thank you...thank you so much...for coming I mean," Belle flubbed still feeling ridiculously light hearted and near dizzy with happiness.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world my dear Belle... Now, have a wonderful rest of the day and I will see you on Thursday."

"You too...and I look forward to it...goodbye."

She ended the call and clutched the phone to her chest. Something so silly should not make her act like a love struck high schooler, like...well, Emma, but it just couldn't be helped. She did a little dance, finally put her phone back into her pocket and back into the dress shop.

It was going to be a great day indeed!

 

* * *

"Mrs. Potts, clear my schedule Thursday and send in the B..." Mr. Gold paused, his finger still on the intercom button to his secretary, "Send in Regina," he amended and released the button.

"Yes, of course Mr. Gold..."

Mr. Gold sat back in his chair at his desk in the Baelfire Consulting, he had received the email that brought him hurtling back to Boston on his jet earlier that morning, just after breakfast with Belle. That short little email, the five little letters meant he had to return, it meant opening up the office on the weekend and calling in Mrs. Potts. It meant coming back like a puppet on a string for his damn  _employee,_ and how he had come to hate her and that damn little short email...

_I know._

He was tired and entirely irritable over having to be here, over having to deal with this ...vapid and annoying problem. She bored him. She grated him. He loathed her _._

She also happened to be the most heartless, unfeeling, and best downsizer in his company. She had no heart and no remorse. She could shut down an entire plant or downsize a department without so much as a qualm. She was thorough, detailed oriented, brutal, unsympathetic and almost enjoyed being cruel.

He had been like her once, after losing Milah. In fact it wasn't all that long after Milah that he had found, hired and trained a young Regina Mills straight out of college. He groomed her to be the downsizer. He had seen quite clearly her potential and the seeds of a ruthless corporate executioner. She had exceeded his hopes and had stayed with him longer than he would have at first guessed. Most of those that did her job burned out after 10 years. It caught up with them and they quit, went mad or became hermits. It was the curse of the job. One usually could only tear out the hearts of human beings for so long before it tore apart their own.

Not Regina though. Oh no, she was in the for the long road. He believed that if it were possible she would be the one to fire him from his own company. That was impossible though. He made sure of that, just in case. Mr. Gold was a cautious and meticulous man after all and he took no unnecessary or excessive risk.

"Mr. Gold...it's been a while!" Regina came through his office door a Cheshire grin on her heavily painted face.

Mr. Gold didn't rise or answer her, only waved to one of the chairs before his desk. He knew Regina like dramatic costumes. All black or dark grey suits, heavy make-up, brutal high heels and very loud accessories.

"Back from your little trip to see that little girl with the book shop, hmm Gold?"

Mr. Gold looked at her with a sneer, "Regina what gives you impression that I tolerate that kind of disrespectful address from my employees?"

Regina grinned and gave a one shouldered shrug, "Oh, but I'm not just an employee Gold. I'm your best employee. I'm fantastic and you know it. I'm also good enough to know that your little dalliance with this Belle French is at best a conflict of interest... Also that you buying up all the assets that are supposed to be going to auction is most assuredly a violation of ethics. What  _are_ you thinking Gold? What  _does_  this little girl have over you, hm?" she leaned forward both hands resting on his desk.

Mr. Gold struggled to hide his surprise. He was never caught off guard, he always was five steps ahead.

Always.

Except today. How much did she know? That this sniveling witch was trying to blackmail him was making him feel violent.

He had bought the antique items that Lumière and Cogsworth had priced. He had paid top of the estimate using his independent company Dark Castle Antiquities Ltd. The company wasn't exactly a shell company, he had created it apart from Baelfire and held it entirely in his name. No board, no overseers or holders. It had originally been for tax benefits when he was purchasing items for his own extensive collection.

The purchased items from Belle were sitting in his temperature controlled, security guarded warehouse owned by Dark Castle Antiquities on the outskirts of Boston. There should have been no conceivable way Regina could know about that warehouse let alone what he was housing there.

"Were you somehow under the impression Ms. Mills that you were in any way associated with our client, Rupert Gaston? Because you are not, in  _any_ way. Not only are you not in any way involved with that client you have no business making any accusation regarding my personal conduct."

Regina arched a dark eyebrow, "Oh, is that so? Well Gold I think the board will be interested in what the CEO of Baelfire is doing, especially when it's potentially rooking a very affluent client out of money. You don't think they'd be interested in knowing that you're making eyes at the owner of the business you're supposed to be liquidating? Not interested in you buying up the assets and looking into purchasing the business yourself? Come now Mr. Gold, you think there isn't questionable ethics there? An extreme conflict of interest? Representing a client, taking on that client and vowing with all of your professional integrity to work for his best interests then sweeping up the assets you convinced him to liquidate? Oh, there is no court in the country that wouldn't find out you guilty of a hundred different things including anti-trust. Tsk, tsk..."

Mr. Gold was livid. His body was nearly shaking with his anger. How had she found out about it? Where was the leak, there had to be a leak! A spy! Something! Oh he was going to filet the son of a bitch when he found them.

"I believe you should leave my office and my building before I call security Ms. Mills," he ground out through clinched teeth.

Regina didn't appear rattled in the slightest, "Tick-tock Mr. Gold, whatever shall you do?" she laughed loudly, sardonically.

She rose and flitted out of the room with dramatic flair. Mr. Gold glowered at the door as it closed behind her.

 

* * *

Sunday the shop was closed and Belle found herself alone in her apartment humming as she took turns both cleaning and reading a book. It was her way of talking herself into cleaning, for every chore she completed she rewarded herself with a chapter. Yes, it took all day to complete what should only take a couple hours but it made the hated task of cleaning much more tolerable.

She couldn't keep her mind from wandering to Mr. Gold however, which was greatly impeding her progress. She couldn't keep focused on the words or the laundry she was supposed to be folding. She was falling for him, she finally allowed her self to confess totally. She didn't know exactly when she had allowed it to cross from tolerance to friendship and from friendship to...to this happy joy that was taking up her body. She thought about him constantly. It was far too early to call it real love, obviously, but she was now acknowledging to herself that she wanted that. She wanted a chance with Mr. Gold.

Talking, well confessing really, to Mary Margaret had really made her face things. She was falling for the man and even with all the complications, with all obstacles and detriments she was still willing to try.

Maybe it was fate. She did not want to lose her shop, not at all and she was still fighting with all she had to maybe keep it, but she couldn't ignore the thought that maybe fate had different plants for her. Other than her friends...and her father, the shop was the only thing tying her to Storybrooke. She came home because that was where her life was before college. She hadn't had anything tying her to New York, that wasn't home, she wasn't a big city gal at all.

But she maybe could be.

For Mr. Gold. If he wanted her to be. If he wanted her and they ended up maybe having a future she could adapt to Boston. She didn't desire the big, flashy life like his ex-wife to seemed to have, but she wouldn't refuse it if that was what she needed to do, to be with him.

Maybe it was fate that brought them together. If she had to lose her shop, if she had to recreate her life...maybe she would at least get the chance at true love in return.

But she was getting away from herself!

She didn't even know his first name!

She threw herself onto her bed and buried her head in a pillow. This was all just positively childish and she was absolutely losing her mind.

Oh but he was handsome in those suits... A girl still, no matter what, always had her imagination and dreams...and this girl had always loved a man in a suit.

 

* * *

Mr. Gold left the office not long after he had dismissed Regina and headed for his home in the historic and ritzy part of Boston. He pulled through the massive gates driving another rented Jaguar.

He drove the long driveway lined with tall cherry trees and rolling green lawn until he reached the circular drive that held a massive fountain at it's center. He parked the car almost directly in front of massive entry, retrieved his suitcase and entered the dark premises.

He kept no staff though a household service came through daily when he was in residence and collected the laundry, cleaned, replaced groceries and did whatever lists Mr. Gold left out. He liked his privacy.

He enjoyed the cooking, it relaxed his mind and aside from that there were no other needs he had that could possibly require assistance. He gloried in his solitude.

Or, he had.

He left his things by the door, they would be seen to by the service in the morning, and climbed the massive spiral staircase to the third floor where his bedroom was. He was never quite sure why he had purchased a home with so many stairs considering his leg but he couldn't imagine a home otherwise outfitted.

His 'room' was of course a suite of rooms consisting of a study with an adjacent personal library, bedroom, sitting room, en suite and a walk in dressing room.

It was into the dressing room that he first went, stripping off his Spencer Hart suit systematically. He had always prided himself on being well dressed. Every person had a part he or she played and that part deserved a coordinating suit of armor or, costume if you were. His armor had always been his suits.

He laid his suit and shirt out for the cleaners, hung up his tie and put away his pocket square, he lined his dress shoes up with the rest of the many pairs then rolled off his socks and put them with the rest of laundry.

In nothing but his undershirt and boxers he left his cane against the center dressing table and exited to the large white marble, glass and stainless bathroom.

He turned the water to scalding, stripped the last clothing from his body and stepped under the spray. He stood there stock still, water rushing down over him and jets hit his back massaging at his tense muscles. Further specially designed therapeutic jets at a lower placement on the wall hit his leg at the knee and thigh helping to ease the throbbing, dull ache.

The water continued to saturate him and he felt the tensions in his body ease while his mind reeled and his chest constricted.

What was he doing? He had lost his mind. He was half in love with a girl nearly half his age. He couldn't get her out of his mind. She was a constant presence right there, wrapping herself around his heart like a many thorned rose, gorgeous but harmful in the most dangerous of ways.

He was falling for her quickly and maddeningly. He thought about her smile, her laugh, the way those beautiful eyes danced. He calmness and her rational, beautiful kindness. Her acceptance of things but the absolute unwavering desire to fight for what she wanted.

She was graceful and sweet.

Kind. Compassionate and so incredibly giving.

She was very antithesis of Milah, the only other women he had ever loved.

This made her dangerous. He had picked beautiful Milah in his young ignorance, picked his prize without looking at her heart. Belle had heart and beauty and the older, wiser Gold relished her freshness, the breath of fresh air on his cold stagnate soul. She was everything wonderful and pure.

He finally reached for the bar of rough Scottish soap. It lacked refinement and it smelled of clean musk and sandalwood, so totally without frill. It cost a scant couple of dollars but the man that could afford to bathe with liquid gold if he chose, preferred the soap of his childhood, of his father and his grandfather.

He rubbed the soap between his hands until it lathered and thought on his newest problems, aside from his Belle.

The fact was he knew when he instructed his bank to transfer the funds for the purchase of the Belle's items that he was operating in shady territory. He hadn't cared though. All that mattered was that her items were not lost to her. That they not go to one or many buyers that would scatter them. He had paid more than fairly for all of it, he was something of collector and he knew he was more than generous.

It was still a conflict of interest.

He scrubbed his torso vigorously.

How had Regina known he was putting out feelers regarding the avenues for the purchase of My Father's Shop? He had been discreet and only had dealt with people he strongly trusted. Perhaps his mistake had been to hide it.

Yet, it had been his only option. He couldn't stop the sell, his duty was still black and white to his client, even if he despised him. To approach Gaston about allowing the outright purchase of it would surely bring up questions about his objectivity...not to mention he figured Gaston would try and take him for ever last penny once he knew that it was he that wanted it.

He soaped his hair.

His biggest consideration had been of course, Belle. Concern for her feelings, her well being...her keeping her pride, she had become his driving force.

If she knew he was conspiring to buy her business and its things would she hate him? Would she think he was making her a charity case if he tried to give it to her? He doubted she would accept an outright gift.

He tipped his head under the water to rinse.

He felt like a completely love struck teen age dope. Flowers, candy for a girl he liked? Oh no, he wanted to buy her business out from under, wipe her debts and present it like scribbled valentine. Oh that was just sad and pathetic.

The water was still scalding hot and he relished it. The little rivers of hot water cascading down his muscles, heating and loosening the rigid tightness. He tipped his head side to side massaging his tense neck.

He couldn't sell it back to her, even if it saved her pride it would create an odd dynamic between them. He couldn't hold a price against her and pursue her. No, that wasn't an option. He didn't want to lie to her and let her buy it from Dark Castle either.

No, he couldn't have bought her things publicly and he absolutely couldn't buy the business and building publicly but if he did it under shadow as he was attempting to now he had a law suit waiting to happen thanks to the witch Regina, not mention it did chafe his better sense of propriety and ethics. He might do dastardly work at times but he was always up front about it, always true.

He turned off the shower finally, reached for a big, fluffy, Egyptian cotton towel from the heated towel bar just outside of the glass shower cubicle and wrapped it around his waist.

He dried the dripping rivulets along his face and arms and awkwardly made his way to the marble vanity.

His reflection in the mirror stared back at him as he combed back his hair. His eyes were bright with weary, the lines seemed deeper today and skin though still pink from scrubbing and the hot water it held a sallow tinge. He felt his age, he looked his age.

He finished his toilette and changed from his towel into clean boxers and silk pajamas. He might be missing Belle and the cozy inn and maybe even the small quaintness of Storybrooke and its company but he was glad to be back in his own, superior bed with space to breathe and silence to think.

He pulled back the dark grey bedding and climbed in happy to be off his throbbing leg. Tomorrow was another day and he would tackle his problems anew.

As Mr. Gold tossed and turned in his oversized bed on the verge of wakefulness and sleep his mind drifted to a young man that had eyes that reminded him so much of the eyes that had just been looking back at him in the mirror. The eyes of the Gold men.

Maybe someday, perhaps, if he could figure out how to win Belle he might have a son, a son with his eyes and his Belle's beautiful smile.

Maybe.

Someday.


	12. Rumplestiltskin

Belle was beginning to believe she was insane. Not just slightly crazy, or a little bit odd...no, she was beginning to believe she was truly insane. She was missing Mr. Gold more than any rational human being should miss a person. Especially a person she didn't know the first name of, well middle name, given name...name that he went by. Still, she figured she was doing better then some, some did more than just 'like' a person and they barely knew their first name let alone their last name.

It was Tuesday, she still hadn't come up with any sort of plan for rescuing her shop, it was much more fun to moon over Mr. Gold. She was beginning to believe that along with being insane she was truly without many options, perhaps it was time to stop fighting.

She sighed long and low as she moved down the shelving ladder, wiping away any traces of dust as she went. Distantly she heard the vibrating of her cell phone, one short alert. It had been a very slow day, the apparent arrival of a text was enough of a curiosity to bring her down from her chore.

Belle dropped her dust rag in the cleaning bucket along with the wood polish, wiped off her hands on her faded apron before picking up her phone.

She nearly dropped it in with the rag and dust bunnies. Her breath caught in her chest and her hands shook just a little bit. She hadn't expected that name in the slightest. She tapped the alert icon and her text messages opened up instantly.

_"Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope but not altogether without it." ...this was on my box of tea this morning, do you recognize it? -RG_

Belle's heart hammered in her chest and she tried not to laugh out loud, he was texting her! Her! Mr. Gold... And of course she knew it. How could she not? How could he not?

Oh! Her mind was grabbing the hand of her heart and running away with it... Maybe he...maybe he missed her? Maybe he was trying to be clever and reveal something of his feelings? Maybe?

"Wait! What in the world does the R stand for?" she gasped out loud.

She was still staring at the phone screen, "Get a hold of yourself girl! Seriously...it's just a text, he wants to know the author, nothing more, nothing less...just be cool and answer him, don't read anything into," she muttered and turned her phone to activate the touch keyboard.

_Sir Walter Scott, it's from Ivanhoe..._

She stared at the blinking screen, not sending, what else could she say? She wanted to keep him talking, if he wanted to of course... If he truly just wanted a simple answer he could have Googled it. But he didn't, he texted her...that  _had_ to mean something.

_Sir Walter Scott, it's from Ivanhoe. It's a great book, have you read it?_

No, she backspaced that, that sounded silly. If he had read it why hadn't he recognized it?

_Sir Walter Scott, it's from Ivanhoe. One of my favorites. What kind of tea?_

Oh that sounded awful...she could spend all day doing this! She finally hit 'send' and grunted. Too much thinking never helped a thing, she should get back to cleaning. She tried to put her phone back under the counter where she usually kept it but just couldn't manage it. What if he texted back?

"You don't want to look to eager you ninny!" she muttered aloud still clutching the phone in her hand.

She dropped it when it vibrated. She looked at it on the wood floor for an extended moment before scooping it up, praying she hadn't damaged it.

There was a text.

It was from him.

_I thought I recognized it. It was some kind of green tea. I didn't like it. How are you today my dear? -RG_

Belle's smile stretched across her face and she struggled to not do a little dance.

_I'm not a big fan of green tea either. I'm well, the shop is very quiet today...How are you?_

There was barely a minute between and her phone was lighting up again. She knew it was probably terribly immature to be that giddy over a text, she was again, no better than Emma.

_I'm stuck in the most inane meeting, this week has been awful, but I'm the boss so I suppose I'm somewhat required to attend without complaint. What are you doing? -RG_

She smiled, picturing him texting her from some big important meeting...he  _was_  thinking of her.

_I was dusting but it's terribly boring, I would rather be reading the books... What does the R, in RG stand for?_

She waited as the message sent and to help her pretend she wasn't going to do anything except wait for his text she slipped the phone into her pocket and fussed with the trinkets and bits on the counter.

Her phone was vibrating before she was even much into her charade.

_It's a clue. My middle name...and it's not Ralph so don't guess that. I've got to run, don't work too hard, be good dearie – RG_

Belle's heart went wild in her chest and she slammed out a response hitting send

_You too...I shall be thinking hard on your name...and you're really sure it's not Rumplestiltskin then? ;-)_

* * *

Mr. Gold had to fight down the grin as he saw her text come through just before slipping the phone inconspicuously back into the pocket of his suit.

"Mr. Gold...Mr. Gold?"

He looked up to the end of the table where his head of legal was pointing to various numbers on the projection screen.

"Settle the suit, we will spend more money in fighting it then any money they could be asking. Be sure and get all the confidentiality documents signed," Mr. Gold took only a few seconds to get back on track.

The board of directors seated around the table looked at him in shock, "Settle it? Gold, we've never settled a wrongful termination suit...ever. You've always said that the publicity of settling, that taking guilt did nothing but open the firm up to more suits. They should be suing their former employer not us!" Geraldine, a women of diminutive stature, advancing years and haughty attitude was gaping at him.

"I say a great many things Ms. Blythe, and at this moment I'm saying settle," he snapped grabbing his cane from where it rested against the table and rose, "We're done here I trust?"

The board, various department directors and the representatives from legal were silent but stared at him shocked. It wasn't like him to just up and leave in the middle of meeting, he took his business far more serious than that but today he was just done. He didn't want to be there, not even a little bit.

He quickly took himself to the elevator where he punched the button to call it with the end of his cane. He was bored with his job. He couldn't focus, he didn't want to focus on it. He wanted to be in a little Maine town, in a little dusty bookshop sipping real tea and eating biscuits.

He wanted to maybe do a bit of gardening, or take up fishing...or whatever it was people did when they weren't working. He had been working at this job for his entire life, since he was practically a teenager. He was exceedingly good it and it had always been the driving force in his life - his work. He had plenty of money, he had no reason to work, hadn't for quite some years but he hadn't ever really had anything tempting enough to take him away.

Now he did.

Now he had a little shop girl. He wanted her more than he wanted the grand house, the power and the life style and that was surprising him. Shocking the hell out of him really.

He couldn't give up Baelfire, not totally. He still loved his work, it had gone down in his priorities of course, but that didn't mean he didn't want it any of it any more. He wasn't 16 any more, the notion of throwing out everything for a girl just didn't exist for him and he was okay with that.

He thought about his cell phone in his pocket and the little texts that were there. Maybe he was closer to 16 than 51 then he would believe.

The elevator dinged it's arrival and Mr. Gold took it down to the parking garage. He wasn't able to go back to Storybrooke just yet, he hadn't solved his biggest problem yet, but that didn't mean he couldn't get out of the city. He needed to think, and the perfect place to do that was his library at home. He would figure things out, he always did. He was the Crocodile, he was the great and powerful Mr. Gold. He fixed things, he solved problems. That is what he did.

* * *

It was growing late in the evening and Mr. Gold sat in his wing backed chair a well worn volume of Scottish Poetry in his hand, it had been his mothers. He liked to read poetry, especially Scottish, to clear his head. The fire roared quietly next to him and his tea, the awful green tea, grew ever colder on the side table.

He flipped to Burns and read quietly, more reciting it from memory as much as actually reading the words. He thought about his little texts between himself and Belle. He had known the quote, of course he had, Ivanhoe was another book he could practically quote from memory, he had just wanted an excuse to talk to her...to have her presence with him. He thought she might like his library, he was rather proud of it. She did so seem to love libraries. Her whole shop felt more like a library than a store as it was. It was no wonder she struggled so much. People wandered in and out, reading in the alcoves then returning back to the shelf most of what they had read...

Library... He paused, there was something, something that was itching in the front of his brain. Library, oh there was something that was forming, something brilliant...

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket distracting him.

_Ronald?_

He smiled faintly quickly replying back,  _No, decidedly not, ;-) -RG_

He added the winking face as an after thought and hit send rather rapidly.

Almost instantly he received back,  _Richard?_

_No, though I can think of a few people that would relish calling me Dick. -RG_

_Randy? Give me another hint._

Mr. Gold couldn't help grinning,  _Randy? Randy, Dick...what ever are you doing tonight dearie? -RG_

His flirting was obviously rusty, very, very, rusty and he cringed a little as he hit send but send it anyway he did.

_Of course your mind went there. Hmph. It's not just the letter R is it?_

_No, it's not just the letter R. You're avoiding the question, what you are doing this evening? -RG_

_Wasn't avoiding, I'm watching The Full Monty, drinking Johnnie Walker and talking with you... What are you doing?_

Gold grinned picturing it, his sweet Belle...

_The Full Monty AND Scotch? On a Tuesday? You're a wild woman aren't you Ms. French? Are you enjoying your movie? -RG_

_I am, it's one of my top 10, but then what girl doesn't like this movie? Especially that main guy? He's pretty hot... Randal?_

_No, his name was Gary, are you sure you're watching the Full Monty and not just telling me that? -RG_

_No weirdo lol, you...is your name Randal?_

_No, not Randal. What are you wearing ? -RG_

Gold paused soon as he sent that, and could have kicked himself, he quickly sent a second text to clarify,

_To the dinner party, I want to be sure I'm dressed appropriately. Is it formal? -RG_

* * *

Several hundred miles away Belle was curled up on her sofa, movie on pause one hand holding a tumbler of scotch and the other her phone. She was grinning as her thumb did a little dance over the keyboard as she tried to think of how to respond.

_You've worn a three piece suit every day I've known you...what is formal to you? A tux? MM likes to dress up her parties a bit...but no, not formal really...don't wear your tux..._

She hit send then in a brief moment of daring sent a second.

_I mean unless you're set on it, tuxes are cool, Bobby_

She grinned to herself sipped at her drink and hitting play again.

_MM? Mary Margaret I assume... Tuxes are cool, but I'll save that for the second date. Not Robert my dear, but nice try ;-) -RG_

Her heart was not going to be able take this much longer, he was absolutely killing her. Date?  _Second_ date?

_Yeah, Mary Margaret. As to what I'm wearing...It's a surprise. Are you sure it's not Robert? I could see you as a Bobby...and I told you what I'm doing, what are you doing?_

It was getting late, she rose from the sofa turning off the TV, she wasn't paying attention anyway, and took her glass to the kitchen area, leaving it on the counter. She should wash it, but she just didn't feel like it now. She had a little bit of buzz, not much, just enough to give her a warm, fuzzy and happy glow.

Or maybe that was the feeling from Gold's texts...she wasn't sure which was the lesser evil to attribute it too. The booze or her immaturity.

_Quite sure dearie, I have just left my library. It's getting late, I've an early morning tomorrow...I think I am going to retire with some work papers I've neglected to read. Tomorrow cannot go by fast enough -RG_

Belle dropped her robe as she read the text, climbing into bed wearing only her panties and bra, she felt oddly warm.

_It is late, I'm just going to bed myself...I'm incredibly jealous the way you just tossed out 'leaving my library' like that lol. I hope you don't stay up too late and that you sleep well...tomorrow can't pass quickly enough for me either. Goodnight Mr. Gold_

That night Belle slept with her phone on the pillow opposite her and reading the faintly illuminated screen was how she fell asleep.

_I read at some point that the 3rd best thing to do in bed was read...I wish you sweet dreams, and a beautiful morning Ms. French. Sleep well -RG_

* * *

Belle wasn't sure how to feel when Wednesday did in fact go by quite quickly but without a single text from Mr. Gold. It wasn't that she expected him text, okay maybe she did...just a little bit, but she thought he would have, just to say good morning or something. She tried so desperately hard not to feel disappointed. She kept busy though of course. She dusted, cleaned, continued to sort antiques out for Lucian and Peter and tried to stay positive.

He was probably just really busy. He wanted to get things done quickly so he could hurry back to Storybrooke. Of course that was it...of course.

It was time to close the store for the night, Emma had just put the last box of teapots into the storage room for collecting and Belle was turning off the lights.

"I can hardly wait for tomorrow! Neal said he was looking forward to meeting Mom and Dad, or remeeting them or whatever so I think that is a really good sign! I have been trying to figure out what I'm going to wear to dinner all week! Have you figured out what you're wearing yet Belle?" Emma rambled at a 100 miles per hour and Belle locked up the building.

"I honestly haven't really put a whole lot of thought into it Emma, there has been a lot going on," Belle walked with Emma toward the Nolan house, she would need to cut over to go up to the grocery store but walked with Emma for part of way.

"Mr. Gold is still coming isn't he?" Emma asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I mean he said he was, and I haven't heard otherwise."

Emma nodded, "Good. He likes you, he's good for you."

Belle stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and raised her eyebrows at Emma, "Sweetie, you're 15, you've no idea what is good for me," she laughed and looped her arm with hers.

"I know that you've smiled more, laughed more...that you've been really  _happy_  since you've met him and considering what he's been here to do...that's sort of a big thing," Emma stated matter of fact.

Belle found she really couldn't argue with that. The fact was, she was happier knowing Mr. Gold, despite the horrible reason for their meeting.

"Perhaps you're right my dear little Swan, perhaps you're right indeed..." Belle sighed.

They reached the corner where they'd part. Emma to home and Belle to do her shopping.

"Okay, tell your mom I'll be over early to help get set-up, okay? Be good!" They parted with a hug, their family, and Belle did consider the Nolans her family, had always been tactile.

Belle was alone on the street and nearly to the grocery store when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Since she had long given up on hearing from Mr. Gold she didn't feel the frantic need to dig the phone from her pocket, like she had most of the day.

It was of course a text from him.

The best things happened when you weren't expecting them she faintly thought as she grinned widely at the phone.

_I trust your day was far superior to mine, mine was tedious and went on and on. However, the bright spot being I got everything I wished to, and needed to, accomplish, done and even ahead of schedule. Was your day indeed good? -RG_

She paused in the middle of the sidewalk to text him back.

_Hello Raphael, my day, though not by any stretch of the imagination anything more than average, sounds better than yours._

Belle began walking again, a new lightness in her step eyes glued to her screen.

_Try again my dear, and you really shouldn't walk and text, you're liable to walk into something, or out in front of a car, and that would be very unwelcome. -RG_

Belle stopped in her tracks immediately looking up and around.

He was standing leaning against the same black Jaguar he had had previous, phone already stowed in some pocket.

He took her breath away. A bit aloof, entirely in control. There was a cocky little smile curling the edge of his lips as his hands were folded over his cane.

She struggled to keep from running toward him, as it was her quick walk was only a half a pace slower than a sprint.

He was smiling fully at her as she came to an abrupt stop in front of him. She was smiling widely but she didn't quite know what to do. She wanted to hug him, embrace him and a small part of her sang out that she wanted to desperately kiss him.

"You tricked me Rodriguez...that wasn't very nice..." she found herself rather like steel to a magnet, drawn ever closer to him.

"Hm, you're getting closer my dear," Mr. Gold looked down at the woman that was as close to him as she could be without touching him.

"Oh? And we're very," she looked up at him through her lashes, "very," he wasn't an overly tall man but she was barely 5'2" and he tipped his head down to her, "very sure it isn't Rumplestiltskin?"

She bit her lip as he leaned in, lips at her ear, nearly brushing the shell, "Oh, very sure dearie."

Belle's eyes fluttered shut as his warm breath tickled her skin along her ear and neck.

* * *

He had offered to buy her coffee at Granny's and she had joyfully accepted. They were seated now in a back booth looking very much cozy.

"You seem to be in an exceptionally good mood Mr. Gold," Belle laughed dipping a french fry into the swirl of ketchup and mustard on her plate.

"It happens I am...a very good mood indeed. Things in Boston went...well they went better than I expected." Mr. Gold also picked up a french, his dashed with a bit of vinegar and a hot pepper sauce.

"Can you share what went so well? Or, just tell me a story, I do so love stories," Belle couldn't stop smiling as they shared coffee and fries like a high school couple.

"Well..."

"You bastard!"

Belle started, dropping the fry she was about eat, letting out a small gasp of shock. Mr. Gold, barely registered a change in breathing, though his eyes dilated slightly with surprise.

"Ruby, what is wrong with you?" Belle exclaimed looked at her friend, bewildered.

"Do you know what this son of..." Ruby caught a mother and her small son staring wide eye at her at the counter, "She-wolf" she flubbed, "did?"

Belle's face fell as she look from Ruby to Mr. Gold, "No, no I don't ...what do you, what did he do?"

Mr. Gold's face tightened, lips becoming a thin line, "Mrs. Hopper..." he started sternly.

"What? You didn't tell her?" Ruby spat.

"Tell  _me_ what?" Belle slammed her hands on the table, "Somebody tell me what is going on!"

"Shall I do the honors?" Ruby's hands gestured grandly.

Mr. Gold straightened, "If you feel you must..."

Belle was so confused.

"Your boyfriend here just bought the entire town! The old pawnshop, the apartment buildings... _this_  diner! He's bought the whole damn town! A notice was sent to Granny tonight notifying her that Mr. Dougal R. Gold bought the mortgage on the diner...did some research with Sydney and we found the notices for nearly every building in town," Ruby was foaming at the mouth, her voice was wild and her eyes blazed.

"Mr. Gold...?" Belle turned her gaze from her friend to the man across from her, she was hesitant, unwilling to think anything unkind or nefarious just yet. Her face begged him to explain, proclaimed that she was trusting him with her everything.

"He even bought your shop Belle..."

Belle's gaze darkened.

"I can't deny what Mrs. Hopper says."

Belle's face broke, "I...I don't understand. You bought all these businesses...my shop? You own my shop?"

"Yes."

She bit her lip and looked to Ruby, "I don't understand, I mean...why are you so angry? I mean it's odd, but I'm sure Mr. Gold has a very good reason..."

"Well, he's not telling you that he's raising then rent on the businesses. I don't know how Granny is going to be able to keep up! We are barely keeping our heads above water as it is!"

Belle closed her eyes, hand on her temple, "Mr. Gold...can you please explain all this? Is it true, did you raise the rent? Why? I don't understand... Is your company a part of this?"

"No, it's not! It's just him...well it's shell company, this Dark Castle bit... Sydney has been digging up all kinds of dirt!" Ruby interjected.

Mr. Gold whipped his head to look at Ruby, "Mrs. Hopper I would warn you to hold your tongue on matters of which you know  _nothing_."

"But Mr. Gold! Sydney is an investigative reporter...he must have some reason to believe..." Belle couldn't process everything, they were just eating french fries and almost kissing in the street, now...now...

"Belle...I need you to trust me," Mr. Gold tried to get her to look at him.

"Don't trust him Belle, he's been trying to decieve all of us...he's no good. I told you!"

"Mrs. Hopper, please don't make me ask you again or I shall send for the police, stay out of this!" Mr. Gold lost his temper and he growled fiercely.

This broke through Belle hazy confusion, "Mr. Gold, Ruby!" she cut through the beginnings of a shouting match, "Both of you enough! Ruby you need to let Mr. Gold time to explain...and Mr. Gold, Ruby is my friend and this is her grandmother's business, it's Ruby's business...you have to see why she is concerned! Please lets try and keep our heads!"

Mr. Gold visibly calmed, "I'm asking you to trust me, please...for a while."

Ruby was turning all shades of purple as she struggled to contain her outrage, "How can you ask that?! Gold, you came her to take Belle's shop now you've bought up the town and raising the rent to seemingly run us out? What in the hell are we supposed to think? Sydney thinks you're going to try and turn this into a tourist trap with commercial businesses..."

Mr. Gold refused to look at Ruby, "I can't explain anything, at this time."

Belle looked heart broken at him, "Why?"

"Legal reasons, until all the paperwork is complete and filed I can't comment."

Ruby threw up her hands and Belle worried her lip, "Ruby, can you please give us some privacy."

Ruby glared and did not want to leave, but she left with a huff.

"I'll trust you...I trust you. Please don't let me down Mr. Gold..." she reached out her hand and laid it over his clench tight together in front of him.

Mr. Gold looked down to where her small hand rest over his and sighed.

"Trusting in the Crocodile...some would tell you that that was surely a wager you would lose. My reputation is not completely unfounded you realize?" he pulled his hands back disappearing under the table.

Belle sat back, "I figured. Some people, something things...some hearts are meant for others. Be it for good or bad I believe I know you and I believe in you, Rumplestiltskin."

Mr. Gold couldn't help but smile, "Oh dearie...I really thought you were going to guess it...I have to go, it's getting late and I'm afraid I've business to attend to first thing in the morning, an overseas call...I'd walk you home but I'm going to beg you forgive my lack of manners when I do not as I'm afraid my leg is not cooperating tonight."

He rose from the table, Belle following.

He walked her as far as the sidewalk in front of the diner.

"Am I still invited to dinner tomorrow?" Mr. Gold asked almost shly.

Belle found herself smiling despite herself, "Of course...it's probably going to be extremely awkward since the Hoppers will be there along with the Nolans... Young Neal will love you though...all the heat will be on you not him," she nudged his shoulder with hers.

"Anything to help the poor lad."

Mr. Gold stepped in front of Belle, halting her way, "I've something for you..." he reached into the pocket of suit and extracted a small box shaped object pressing it to her hands, "Good night sweet Belle...until tomorrow."

Before Belle could really register Mr. Gold was kissing her cheek and disappearing into the black of the night.

Belle's eyes searched the darkness for a long moment before turning to the box. She opened it gingerly. Inside the unassuming, unadorned box was a velvet pouch, inside that was an exquisite, fine silver chain, upon which hung a silver charm in the shape of a book. It was a larger charm, about an inch and half tall and an inch wide but extraordinary workman ship. An intricate twined rose and thorny vine was on the front, the back she softly traced with her fingertip,

"You, the rose and I, the thorn – BF from RG"

Belle found a note and pulled it from the bottom of the box

" _...What more can they tell you?_  
I am neither good nor bad but a man,  
and they will then associate the danger  
of my life, which you know  
and which with your passion you shared.

_And good, this danger_  
is danger of love, of complete love  
for all life,  
for all lives,  
and if this love brings us  
the death and the prisons,  
I am sure that your big eyes,  
as when I kiss them,  
will then close with pride,  
into double pride, love,  
with your pride and my pride..."

_-Pablo Neruda_

She knew the poem and it made her heart catch, but what made her cry, what made her breakdown right there on the sidewalk was the closing script, that beautiful, graceful hand.

_Belle, I've no idea why, how or when but you've managed to capture this beast's heart completely. There is so much we need still need to figure out, discuss and learn but I would be remiss if I didn't tell you, didn't confess that I'm infatuated. You sparkle, you light up a room with your passion and grace and I hope I'm not out of line, telling you this, but I think we're both something of old souls and I want to do this right. I want to do this slow and perfect. You deserve perfect but I hope, maybe I can convince you that I might do._

_Yours faithfully, D. Roderick Gold_


	13. Hugger-Mugger

To say that the atmosphere in the Nolan house was tense would be probably the greatest understatement of the year. There was currently a busted wine glass soaking red wine onto the grey carpet under the dining table, and a Dalmatian eating a fallen plate of chicken Marsala off the kitchen floor. The two teenagers had been banished to backyard sans chaperon, which, made David Nolan especially uneasy, however it was certainly a minor problem in light of what was currently happening in his front room and the sirens of the sheriff's car in the driveway.

He wasn't even sure how it had happened actually; it was kind of a blur. An Italian scented, red colored blur...

* * *

Dinner was scheduled for 7 and Belle was at the Nolan's by 5, just as soon as she had left the store. She hadn't spoken with Mr. Gold, well Roderick...she didn't know if she was ever going to get used to that name. It fit, no doubt, it was a strong, masculine name she just supposed she had just sort of named him Rumplestiltskin in her head, an on-running joke that had unconsciously fit and stuck. He was Mr. Gold or Rumplestiltskin...she would need time to adapt to Roderick.

He had sent a brief good morning text saying that he was sorry he wouldn't be in, that while he had completed his work in Boston he still had phone calls to take care of...

She had gotten the single message at 5 in the morning, before she had woken up. She had struggled with what to reply with all morning. The truth was she was more confused than she had ever been. There were more questions, more holes in the story; more worries that crashed in on her when she woke on this crisp, grey morning.

He owned her store.

He owned Granny's Diner.

He owned the Storybrooke Apartments.

The pawnshop.

He practically  _owned_ Storybrooke. What did that mean? What did that mean for the town, for her? Ruby said he was raising the payments on the diner, it was no secret that the diner and most of the businesses barely survived on the local business as it was. Storybrooke didn't have a tourist season as some towns did, there were good points and bad points to that but mostly it was just the way it was. Good, bad or indifferent. An increase on the payments for loans for the businesses of the town would be devastating.

What if people had to sell?

What if new people came in? New people that wanted to turn Storybrooke into a tourist town?

Was that the aim? Had that been his goal all along, Belle wondered. Was she the way in? Had he come out to personally handle her business just so he could snoop around without drawing too much question? It was highly unusual for a businessman of Mr. Gold's prowess to personally handle something so small and trivial as My Father's Shop, she had to think.

Her mind ran back over every moment since his arrival. The day they had gone for ice cream; he had asked her about the old pawnshop. Her heart was hammering in her chest, had she been duped? Had she been used to get the inside track on her beloved little town? She had to sit on the edge of the tub as she started to ready for a shower.

What if everyone she loved lost everything because of this man that had been introduced into their tiny little town world because of her? Because of her mistakes?

What if she had introduced a snake to the rabbits?

But certainly that wasn't true? Right? Certainly that was all wrong...that beautiful necklace that was tucked in it's velvet little pouch in her jewelry box, that couldn't come from a man that was looking to throw her and her family and friends on the street...right? That beautiful,  _perfect,_  note with it. That wasn't fraud; there was no reason for that, right? No reason to make her fall in love, to confess his love, right?

She had been so quick to trust him, so quick to put all her faith in him, when all the evidence was stacking up against him. What had she had to prove his loyalty, his goodness? A few flowery words, a very sad story about his son and ex-wife, what was there really to recommend him?

She felt tears stinging her eyes as she dressed for the day, phone sitting untouched on her kitchen table. She had to think.

She quietly went about opening the shop as per usual, it was again a slow day, and she sold a few books, mostly used and closed up early to gather her things and head over to help Mary Margaret with dinner. She still had no idea what she was going to wear tonight and some of the joy that she had had about selecting her outfit was drained. She wasn't as excited about dressing for Mr. Gold as she had been.

She striped off her regular clothes from the day and shrugged into a robe going to turn on the radio. She plugged in her iPod and hit her 'mellow' music playlist. Kate Walsh filled her apartment as she turned the shower on, piling her hair under a shower cap. It was the second shower of the day but somehow, after all the thoughts she had been thinking, the doubts she had had...she needed to be washed clean again.

_Haven't you heard?_  
 _I'm stuck on a face_  
 _I'm stuck on a boy who fills me with joy_  
 _I knew I was wrong to_  
 _Jump straight on into the picture so pretty_  
 _But he is so pretty to me_  
 _And he doesn't know just how far I would go_  
 _Just to kiss him_  
 _He doesn't know I pine_

She sang along in the shower, if tears mixed with the soap and water she wasn't admitting it.

S _o I make whirlpools_  
 _And watch him sparkle_  
 _And we'll make love make magic_  
 _And haven't you heard?_  
 _I thought I had first_  
 _And he loves me so_  
 _We're two in a row_  
 _Just look in his eyes_  
 _They're blue as the skies_  
 _Are picture so pretty_  
 _But he is so pretty to me_

Clean and wrapped in a towel she stood in front of her closet, moving hanger after hanger. Nothing looked right, nothing felt right. She hated feeling like this. Hated feeling so terribly in love and yet...like she was just steps from being heartbroken.

As she tore through the closet she came across the garment in far back corner. It was her mothers wedding dress. She pulled it out and laid it on the bed on a whim, she hadn't looked at it in ages.

She ran her hand lovingly over it. She had pulled it from storage when she had been planning a wedding with Rupert. She shuttered, was Mr. Gold going to hurt her like Rupert had?

Rupert hated this dress; he had seen it accidentally when she had been taking it to the cleaners after pulling it from the hope chest in storage. He had said it was old fashioned and out of style.

It  _was_ old fashioned...it  _was_ old. It had been her mother's, and her mothers before that. Ivory satin with yards of Scots lace that was patterned with thistles. Her mother had taken out the fine lace collar, leaving the off the shoulder lace draping and. It fit slim, a lace peplum at the waist, pleating and a court length train. Belle loved the lack of zipper, it having instead a row of satin covered buttons all down the back. She had put it back in the closet after Rupert had said how he hated it...

She was beginning to wonder if she was meant to fall in love and get married, first Rupert now Gold, maybe she was just doomed to pick men that would only hurt her, only want something from her.

Mr. Gold hadn't hurt her yet though, no he hadn't. He had been kind, patient and soft. He had been gentle and real. He hadn't hurt her yet. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

She hung the dress back up in the closet and finally pulled out a pale yellow sheath dress. She had never worn it; it had been a present from Mary Margaret several months ago. High square neckline, the skirt hit just above her knees, black belt and solid black flower details on the top left shoulder. The back was completely open to the waist.

She morosely did her makeup, finding her mood made her apply it with an unusually heavy hand. She dressed and did her hair, leaving it loose and in waves. She slipped on flats to head over to Mary Margaret's taking her heels with her.

She silently prayed that tonight went well, that there was no fuss or fights...and that Mr. Roderick Gold would give her more reason to believe in him...love could exist on a little bit hope, and that was all she needed, just a little bit.

She had just a little bit. She slipped on the necklace from him and smiled. Oh, she had faith in him, she would hang onto to hope.

_So I make whirlpools_  
 _And watch him sparkle_  
 _And we'll make love make magic_  
But I couldn't tell you  
 _Just tell that it takes you_  
'Cause words don't make  
 _What I make with you_  
Haven't you heard?  
 _I'm stuck on a face_  
 _I'm stuck on a boy who fills me with joy_  
 _I knew I was wrong_  
 _To jump straight on into this picture so pretty_  
 _But he is so pretty to me_

* * *

David Nolan didn't know what to think of the young man standing in his living room. The young man standing in his living room intending on dating his daughter. He had seen him in passing at the stables, but he just had never really looked before. The boy was hardly a boy. He was a good looking kid, so far well mannered, called him sir and shook his hand, looked him in the eye. Didn't make over Emma in an inappropriate way...he was on his best behavior obviously. Still, he was 17 and his daughter was 15. There would far more to winning any kind of 'approval' and even at that, it would be more like hostile tolerance than actual approval.

"I'm really sorry that my mom is running late Mr. Nolan, there was a problem with the feed delivery...the driver was late and she had to get the paperwork for the accountant. She shouldn't be more than 20 or so minutes."

David nodded, wanted very much to dislike the boy but found he was struggling, "Oh it's not a problem at all Neal, things happen...it gives us time to talk," Mary Margaret beamed waltzing in from the kitchen a tray of stuffed mushrooms and bacon wrapped asparagus hors d'oeuvres.

"And we're still waiting on Mr. Gold," David added pointedly. He had heard about Gold buying up the town.

"Dinner is at 7, it's barely 6:50, he's not late David, and Ruby and Archie are going to be late as well," Belle tried to keep the stress and irritation out of her voice. Truth was, she was anxiously awaiting his arrival too. As stressful as is it might end up being, it was more important that he kept his promise and show up.

Just as Belle was about sit on the overstuff ottoman there was a knock on the door, "I'll get it!" she exclaimed just a little too quickly, a little too enthusiastically.

David and Mary Margaret frowned shaking their heads.

Belle rushed to the door opening it with flourish.

Mr. Gold was turned partway looking at the street, apparently not expecting her so quickly to the door. Belle was rather glad for that, it gave her a few moments to catch her breath.

He stood in the glow of the porch wearing dark wash, perfectly fitted jeans; they shaped to his body in nearly unseemly ways. He had a lightweight V-neck black sweater over a crisp white dress shirt. There was no suit jacket, this time he wore a black leather jacket and Belle began to feel her knees weaken. Everything was perfectly tailored, perfected fit to his lean body and just looking at him made her shiver.

"Mr. Gold?" she spoke his name, it felt a bit formal and odd on her tongue.

He immediately moved his gaze to her and he smiled. His eyes caught onto her necklace and he smiled wider.

"Belle," he breathed, his accent thicker, warmer tonight.

"Roderick..." she felt her face cracking into a large natural smile, "I was close with Rodriquez...you look amazing tonight, I like the jacket," she grinned, "Good choice."

Belle noticed the hand not holding his cane was behind his back, obviously hiding something, she lifted an eyebrow at him in question. He shrugged and gave her a mischievous little flutter of his eyelashes. Mr. Gold was a flirt.

"Are you hiding something Mr. Gold?" she teased.

"Depends, are you going to let me in, or shall I fetch a blanket and set up camp on the stoop?" he tossed back.

"Oh fine, but I'll warn you, when Ruby and Archie get here you might wish you were outside," she laughed sarcastically but stepped from the doorway and waved him in.

They entered the living together from the small entryway, every eye in the room all fell on him and the room went silent.

"Everybody, Emma and Neal, I know you've already met... but Mary Margaret and David, this is Mr. Gold... Mr. Gold, Mary Margaret and David Nolan," Belle made the awkward introductions.

"It's a pleasure..." Mr. Gold advanced, "For the lovely hostess, thank you for having me Mrs. Nolan" he offered Mary Margaret a small bouquet of white roses mixed with white jasmine.

"Oh these are beautiful, thank you!" Mary Margaret gushed, sounding truly sincere, "It is very nice to finally make your acquaintance but please, it's just Mary Margaret," she added.

Mr. Gold nodded then offered a smaller bouquet of white carnations and crocuses to Emma, "For you Miss Emma."

"Thank you Mr. Gold, they're very pretty," Emma grinned, very much appreciating being acknowledged, "I'll put them with the ones from Neal," she headed for the kitchen with a warm and tender smile for Neal. Mary Margaret asked her to put hers in water also as she passed.

"Mr. Nolan, I wasn't sure if you were a roses guy or more for lilacs so I opted with flowers just for the Nolan ladies," Mr. Gold smiled offering his hand, "It's a pleasure and I thank you having me over tonight."

David tried to hold his glare, but Mr. Gold was being entirely affable, in the end he couldn't help but smile and shake his hand, "The infamous Mr. Gold, won't lie I've heard a lot of interesting things about you... I'm hoping we can clear the air a bit tonight."

The handshake was firm, "And for the record I'm more of a dogwood kind of guy." Both David and Mr. Gold shared a laugh.

Mary Margaret and Belle who had been watching with bated breath breathed a sigh of relief when the men were done sizing each other up.

The night really hadn't started all that bad. They were holding dinner until Mrs. Cassidy and the Hoppers to arrive. David played bartender making sure the ladies wine glasses stayed full and he and Mr. Gold sipped at scotch. Neal and Emma drank sparkling cider, Mary Margaret thought they might feel more included if their drink was in wine glasses and bubbled.

Emma and Neal really couldn't have cared less, they would have been just as happy with Coke in the can, but Emma didn't think pushing the issue would have really won her any points with her parents.

* * *

Conversation moved pretty smoothly between everybody, the issue of buying the town and Belle's shop avoided, at least for a time. Neal was in the hot seat for a lot of it, David wanted to know what he planned on doing with his life. Where he saw himself in 5 years and what his long-term professional goals were and what was his opinion on short term versus long term – safe versus risky, investment options.

Mary Margaret halted the inquisition when David tried to get Neal's social security number to run a background check.

"I think that's quite enough…I'm not sure what is keeping Ruby and Archie but I think I'm going to give them a call…David why don't you come help me."

David looked totally confused, "Seriously Mary Margaret…help you with a phone call?" he looked confused.

" _Now_ David," she narrowed her eyes and gave him a tight-lipped grimace and gestured with her head to the kitchen.

David finally caught on and followed her, though not terribly happily.

Belle giggled quietly rising from her spot on the sofa to fill her wine glass, "How long have you had your drivers license Neal?" she asked, instead of going back to the sofa, perched herself on the arm of Mr. Gold's over stuffed chair.

Neal looked a little confused about the question but slid to the front of his chair as he answered, "I got it when I turned 16…my permit when I was 15."

Mr. Gold seemed to catch onto to her train of thought.

"How many times tickets have you had?" Mr. Gold asked.

"None sir."

"How many times have you pulled over?" Belle tagged in.

"None ma'am…I've a perfect driving record."

"You told Mr. Nolan you have a 3.4 GPA, which college are you hoping to get into?" Mr. Gold stared into the face of a man that reminded him so much of himself it made his chest ache.

"I want to go to Columbia and take a year abroad to study at Cambridge. I want to go into international business law sir."

Mr. Gold perked up, "Cambridge aye? Why the UK?" He knew he had happened upon the lad's job, and it was so clear he had solid passion for his academic goals in the brilliance of his eyes and eager tone. These were things people would have noticed of young Mr. Roderick Gold when he had spoken of his future law career as a young man.

Belle kept her eyes on Emma; she seemed a bit put out that the conversation had moved Neal's attention from her.

"Well sir, my mother's family is from there and I think if I'm going to be successful in international law I need to study abroad, it seemed like a natural fit."

Mr. Gold felt his pulse increase. Something was falling into place, gears were turning and his heart was beating way too fast. His mind was whirling…

"Your mother's family? From England?" Mr. Gold heard himself ask, his voice was breathy and high, his accent had thickened so that the others brows creased as they struggled to understand him.

Before Neal could answer knocking at the door interrupted him.

"I'll get it," Belle called sliding from the chair, patting Mr. Gold's arm and giving him a smile.

It was entirely likely the tension in the room was going to go up if it was finally Ruby and Archie showing up.

"Ruby said they'll be here in ten minutes, that must be Mrs. Cassidy, I'm going to put the dinner out," Mary Margaret called to Belle as Belle headed for the door.

"Hello," Belle smiled as she opened the door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I got held up at the stables…" Mrs. Cassidy brushed by Belle shrugging out of her long beige trench coat.

"Belle French? Is that really you? Goodness you've grown…it's been what? Almost 9 years? You watched Neal…" Mrs. Cassidy gushed.

Belle felt like she had been hit by a whirlwind tornado that was disguised as a nearly 6' tall, brunette in slinky black dress.

"Bloody hell!"

Belle froze as Mr. Gold shouted and sprang from his chair, knocking Belle's wineglass from where it had been sitting on the ottoman.

"Milah!"

The dark haired woman looked just as shocked as Mr. Gold, Belle perhaps more confused than either of them.

"Milah?" she mouthed to David and Mary Margaret who had come from the kitchen at the commotion.

The entire living room was in a state of paralysis. No one moved and no one spoke. Mr. Gold and Mrs. Cassidy were locked in an icy fiery gaze. Belle swore they could have killed each other with their looks.

How strange, how actually incredibly bizarre, where in the world did they know…

Milah Cassidy…

"Oh my bloody god!  _You're Milah_?" Belle shrieked paling. It could not be possible! Not possible at all!

"I'm sorry we're late!"

All eyes, including Mr. Gold and Milah's turned to the front door where cheerfully Ruby and Archie and Pongo came bounding through.

"I hope…" Archie stopped short, dropping his hands from helping Ruby with her coat as they fumbled into the living room.

"Did we interrupt something?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Song by Kate Walsh,


	14. Bloody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter of this story...I hope you enjoy :)

It was like a bad movie. The entire room was still, even Pongo stopped in his tracks after knocking a plate from the dining room table.

In fact it was only the plate wobbling from the fall to the floor that showed any movement or that made any sound.

The Hoppers were frozen mid action, the Nolans were statues in the pass through to the kitchen, mouths in wide O's. Neal and Emma ramrod straight sitting on the sofa, eyebrows to the ceiling.

Mr. Gold was standing in front of the chair he had been moments before occupying and he was shade of white Belle had never seen before.

And if Gold was white Milah was an opposing shade of red, standing 3 feet from the Hoppers and next to Belle. She looked horrified, scandalized and totally baffled.

Belle, feeling very similarly to Milah did in fact gain her, if not bearings, voice first.

"This can't be happening...this is  _so_ not happening... You," she pointed to Milah, "and him..." she turned her finger to Gold, "...Right? Oh my god...this is happening...I saw this movie, I  _read_ this book... This is a bad, bad, paperback novel right here..." Belle shook her head, then walked three steps, took the bottle of scotch from the bar cabinet and sat on the floor right where she had been standing.

The others that were still in a state of shock and confusion were shaken from it as they watched Belle French have a mental breakdown on the entryway floor.

"I mean, this is your ex-wife isn't it Gold?" Belle gestured flippantly, the rest of the room still floundering for voices, she took a direct swig from the bottle of scotch and made a face, it was rather cheap scotch.

Mr. Gold had regained his physical composure and now appeared nothing but stoic and cool, spoke through gritted teeth, his brogue strong and menacing, "Indeed, this wench is Milah Brown, though last I heard it was Jones? What happened harpy, didn't work out with dear Killian? Now it's Cassidy? My, you do get around don't you dearie."

"Why you little sniveling, snide, son of a bitch...how  _dare_  you stand there and..." Milah reared charging toward Gold.

Belle swigged another swallow of scotch and leaned against the cabinet, legs stretched out in front of her. Now seemed like the perfect time to lose it completely and just mentally check out.

Really, if she went down the list, it had been a long time coming...her father was an alcoholic and had practically abandoned her.

Her ex-fiance Rupert had turned out to be gay and left her for a French model named Pierre...she wondered if he had told his family about that yet? She didn't even like thinking about it, hell half...well more than half the time, she pretended like  _that_ part of the relationship hadn't happened. She blocked it out. It was much nicer, for both of them. Rupert had convinced her that they should both just part ways and never speak of it. She never spoke of it and tried really hard not to think about it.

Until now. How could she not, really?

She took another swig and watched Gold and Milah start a shouting match.

She was losing her store, her entire life...oh and her home, couldn't forget that.

She took another swig.

She was in love with a man she had known...2 weeks? Had it even been that long? Well, no matter, the man bought up her town - including her shop, and now was having a quaint tete-a-tete with his ex-wife he hadn't seen in...17 years.

"Snow White and the Seven Hairy Dwarves!" Belle cried out, over the top of the warring ex's.

The room, which had rather completely forgotten about her all stopped and stared.

Again.

That wasn't a curse they had ever heard before.

"Who is Neal's father?" Belle scrambled to her feet, still clutching the scotch, "And you need better scotch David...this is..." she made a scrunchy face and clucked her tongue like she was trying to rid the taste from her mouth.

"Anyway...father...who?" Belle gestured between Milah and the still silent Neal.

Milah turned to stone and squared her shoulders; she didn't look like she was going to answer.

Mr. Gold usually was a step ahead of everyone else when it came to these kinds of things, or really no matter the game that was being played, but today however, he most certainly was not. He was staring dumbfounded at Belle; he had no idea where she was going with this.

"Knock, knock," Belle directed at Neal.

Neal blinked not expecting to be addressed and he started a bit. He fumbled and finally stuttered, "Who's there?" hesitantly.

"No, you're supposed to say 'who's my daddy'..." Belle pouted and drank another gulp of scotch.

It was very obvious to everyone in the room that whatever thin string and hold on sanity Belle had been clutching to during these past few exceedingly stressful months had broken quite spectacularly.

"Don't look so confused Gold... Neal here is seventeen...aren't you Neal? ...Stand up, let's have a look at you, strapping young lad," Belle motioned for Neal to stand.

Neal figured as long as he did what was asked she was mostly harmless...mostly.

"I  _babysat_ you...I mean are all you all putting this together? Your birthday is in December right?" Belle was breathing heavy.

"I think it's time we leave, come on Neal!" Milah made to grab her son's arm.

"No, I want to know...what is she saying mom? Who is this...who is this really? He's your ex husband? When? I thought there was just my dad...and you said that he died..." Neal pulled away from her.

Poor Mr. Gold had to sit down; it apparently was all catching up with him.

"Neal..." Mr. Gold seemed to test the name, saying it quietly, reverently, like he had never said it before.

Milah looked like she was protesting and not going to speak or leave without her son.

An eerie silence descended on the room. Whatever was to be spoken next was going to irrevocably change the lives of three people.

As such David, Mary Margaret, Archie and Ruby were feeling highly uncomfortable. They quietly disappeared into the kitchen.

Belle, though not directly affected by what was going to be said didn't feel any such compulsion to leave. She had planted herself firmly in the middle and that was where she was going to stay, unless it came to choosing sides, then she was on Neal's.

Milah still was refusing to speak but she hadn't left either.

"I was married to your mother a great many years ago...we were divorced nearly 18 years ago. We had been separated nearly nine months when we signed the papers; she was, unknown to me until that moment, very pregnant. I believed it was with my child, but she wouldn't tell me."

"There was an accident outside of the law offices where we signed the papers...there was a lorry - a truck, and it was a runaway, I pulled your mother out of the way...we rolled through the ditch, I injured my leg..." Mr. Gold quietly indicated his cane, "We were both taken to the hospital... I was no longer legally her husband, I had no right to information...I was finally told third hand by an unknown that she had lost the baby...I didn't even know if I was the father or if it was a boy or girl...it would have been 18 years ago this December..."

Neal was having a hard time breathing and he sat heavily on the sofa. He was smart kid, and the math wasn't that hard, however the idea...the very idea that he could now be sitting across from the man that was his father was earth shattering to him. It didn't even seem possible.

"Mom?" Neal's voice was hardly audible.

At this point Belle knew that Milah was going to have a hard time wiggling out of this. Perhaps at one point but not now.

It was already obvious without knowing the history; the physical resemblance had been unusual and simply dismissed as coincidence. Now though, when put in undeniable context...

Neal was taller than his father but he had his lithe build. He had his mother's dark hair but his father's eyes. Belle knew now what had seemed so familiar in the boy's quirked smile.

It was his father's smile.

Well Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum...Mr. Gold went and had son... Belle sat down on the ottoman near Gold.

Milah was left standing staring at them.

"You might as well admit it dearie, its all kind obvious at this point," Belle toasted Milah with another drink of bad scotch, she offered the bottle to Gold but he turned it down.

Milah stiffened, "So what? Yes, he's your son! Do I wish he weren't? Bloody hell yes! He should have been Killian's! That was the only reason I was off birth control in the first place! Do you think I  _wanted_ to have your son Dougal? I wanted Killian's, you were just bad timing. One stupid, fucking drunk night and I end up with your kid! I never loved you, I never wanted to married to you...I was sleeping with Killian the whole time, you should have known that!"

"And I wanted you to suffer, that's why I never told anything. I hated being married to you! You didn't want to do anything but work and die in the country! You were boring and old... I only married you for your money and so I could be part of the city life...I got fucking jipped on that you conceited old git! Neal was never supposed to be yours; he was just supposed to get your money... Then Killian went and died on that stupid submarine…"

Belle really didn't know what came over her but before she had any inkling of what it was she was planning she had already stood up and curled back her fist and slammed it into Milah's face.

"Don't you dare talk about your son's father that way you bitch!" Belle growled as Milah tottered back on her sky-high heels, landing on her arse.  
Milah had been caught very clearly by surprise and she looked at the blood that was starting to pour from her nose with detached astonishment. Her severely fractured nose, busted lip and swelling eye wouldn't be nearly as obvious until later.

Belle was advancing on her, "You high and mighty, self-indulgent twatface! …" Belle stopped her movement to look at Neal, "I'm sorry Neal, I'm not doing any better than her...but I'm not your parent...and I might be slightly drunk. I think maybe you should take Emma and go out to the backyard..."

"Belle, that's enough, come sit down," Gold was standing obvious concern on his face, "And I do think perhaps taking Emma outside is a good idea Neal," he added.

Neal truthfully wasn't sure what to say or think or do. Emma, quiet shell-shocked Emma intervened then and stood up taking Neal by the hand and lead him toward the backyard.

"As for you...you terrible excuse for a mother and woman!" Belle began nearly bellowing. She was advancing quickly on Milah who was scrambling backwards on her butt.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Belle saw Milah take her cellphone from her bra, presumably calling 911.

"You keep your phone in your bra? Seriously? That is so  _gross_..." Belle made a face.

"Belle, enough, sit down...let me look at your hand," Mr. Gold had moved next to Belle lifting her right hand. The knuckles were split where they had connected with Milah's teeth.

Belle pulled her hand away forcefully; making Gold sans cane, nearly lose his balance.

"This a family deal, you don't need to call the cops," Belle kicked the phone from Milah's hand just as she was giving the address.

"Then why in hell are you even speaking? Aren't you the real whore here? You aren't married to him, you aren't Neal's mother...why are you even speaking you little...?" Milah spit out a hateful word as she made it back to her feet.

"Oh no you did not just call my best friend what I think you did!" Mary Margaret gasped horrified from the entrance to the kitchen.  
Belle had wondered what had been taking the others so long to show back up.

Mary Margaret came in swinging, taking full advantage of the element of surprise when Milah turned to see who had shouted at her, and slapped her fully across the face, "A lady does not use that word!"

"Ladies, really...we need to calm down..." David rushed forward to draw back his wife that had done her best to escape his subduing hold.

"You don't come in here, into my friends home and disrespect it and her dinner guests!" Belle added though she was being pulled back by Gold to safer distance from Milah.

"Bitch I  _am_ a dinner guest!" Milah screamed throwing her arms open.

"Where are the kids? ...do I hear sirens? Where did Archie and Ruby go?" David asked, fully occupied with keeping his kicking and screaming wife from tackling Milah.

"You are a has been, gold-digging shrew!" Belle cried, also doing her best to break free from Mr. Gold.

"You better reign in your whore of the month Dougal, I think I got slut on my hand," Milah somehow, even with blood all down the front of her and rubbed across her face, smirked and gave a high handed twittering laugh.

Ruby had been in the backyard with Archie and the kids, Archie had thought perhaps his professional expertise might be of help to young Neal, she was just now returning Archie in tow. Ruby was in time to catch Milah's last comment.

"Archie that woman did not just say what I think she said, did she?" Ruby wasn't actually addressing her husband and sadly Archie wasn't quick enough to grab a hold and stop his advancing wife. The sleeve of Ruby's red dress just slipped out of his fingers.

And it was at that moment the other two men lost any grip they had on their women and all hell broke loose.

Pongo didn't mind though, he helped himself to another plate of chicken Marsala.

Well, it wasn't like anyone else was going to eat it.

* * *

Five hours later Milah was at the Storybrooke ER getting looked over by Dr. Whale and the 3 Little Furies, as the town was calling Belle, Mary Margaret and Ruby were sitting in the holding cell of the Storybrooke Sheriff's office, Sheriff Robin Loxely looking them over and shaking his head.

They certainly looked like they had been through a fight. Dresses were torn, hair was sticking out and ratted, skin was scratched and bloodied. Eyes were swelling, lips were swelling and turning all kinds of shades of purple and blue.

There were broken nails, for the love of humanity!

"Tell me again, how is it all three of you gentle ladies got into a fight while your three men," Sheriff Loxely stopped handing out the ice packs and pointed to 2 of the male counterparts sitting along the wall, "just stood by?"

"Robin, come on now...you know..." David interjected offended at the implication.

"Hush now Nolan, I'm talking to your wife and her cohorts right now..." Robin lifted a hand to silence David.

David and Robin had gone to school together, there was no true animosity there, plenty of ribbing and teasing, but no actual dislike.

"It's my fault," Belle raised her head from the bed. She had a pounding headache and she was starting to hurt everywhere.

"Miss Belle...now I'm most surprised to see you in here, I'll be honest..." Mr. Gold coming through the door interrupted Sheriff Loxely.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt you Sheriff, I'm Mr. Gold, council for Ms. French, Mrs. Hopper and Mrs. Nolan..." Mr. Gold extended his hand with a menacing, meant to be welcoming, smile. The fluorescent lighting glinted off his gold tooth.

"Council? That's going a bit far isn't? These ladies aren't actually formally charged yet...and aren't you part of this whole clusterfuuu..." Loxely caught himself, tipped his Stetson, "Begging your pardon ladies."

The ladies waved him off, "We're in the slammer for roughing up a broad...hardly matters now if we starting hearing and talking like sailors," Mary Margaret grumbled dramatically leaning against the bars.

David had to cover a laugh with a cough. He loved his wife, but hardened criminal she could never be.

"It's true Sheriff, I am a part of this, but I think you'll find I'm a very fair and reasonable man... I have also talked with Milah Cassidy, she has agreed to not file charges," Gold opened his briefcase and took out several affidavits and forms.

"I believe, unless there is something else, you can let these ladies go..." Gold smiled folding his hands over his cane and waited.

Loxely looked over the papers a bit suspicious but found them in order.

"Fine. This seems a little fishy, but everything seems in order..." he grumbled taking the key to the cell door, "Looks like your Knight in Shining Jaguar has sprung you...you're all free to go."

Mary Margaret and Ruby rushed to the arms of their respective spouses, very glad to be out of the dank cell.

Belle approached Gold worriedly, "What did you do? What did she make you give up to make this deal?"

Mr. Gold smiled a bit sadly at her, "Come along, not here," he said softly, guiding her out of the office with a hand on her back.

"She better not be using Neal as a pawn! She's already..." Belle's upset was starting to escalate again.

"No, she's too clever for that. Neal is 18 next month, she loses any control of him then... It was a matter of money, it's always a matter of money with Milah."

Belle stopped walking, "What?"

"Money...this goes away, she goes away, it's really a simple matter really."

"You paid her off? I would have rather this went to court than that woman receive a single red penny!"

Mr. Gold tried to calm her down, "Belle...trust me, this is for best...let's go to the shop, or the Inn or Nolan's...somewhere we can talk... Belle I just got a call, all the paperwork has been signed on my property purchases..."

Belle blinked at him. She was tired, she hurt, and she was covered in blood and bruises. She had a headache to end all headaches and he was acting like the drycleaners had merely lost his pants. Not that his ex-wife had appeared from nowhere and he had a nearly fully-grown son spring up seemingly from the bowels of earth.

No, Mr. Gold was the epitome of professional, so cool and detached.

She bloody hated it.

"I'm going home...or your home since you own it now all official and stuff, whoever it belongs to, I'm going there...call me in the morning. I can't think or talk to you right now..."

And she then she walked away.

She wished she had remembered to bring the scotch.


	15. Worlds

Belle woke to sunshine streaming through her window and digging into her brain like many clawed birds. She groaned loudly. Her body hurt. Her head hurt. Her freaking hair follicles hurt. Every single damn one of them. She could probably count them and every little nagging ache and pain radiating from them.

Her mouth felt like cotton, nasty vomit flavored cotton. Her face felt swollen and tight. She groaned again, turning over onto her back. It took a Herculean effort of course, but she got over on her back and slowly opened her seemingly glue shut eyes.

Her world was fuzzy and the light from the window pierced her eyes like hot flames. She quickly closed them again.

This almost helped with the sudden nausea that started warring in her gut.

Along with all the bumps, bruises, strains and pains that were all over her body Belle was also experiencing a wicked hangover.  
She silently swore to never, ever, again, drink scotch. Well, at least not bad scotch. If there was any chance of going through this again she wasn't going to do it over bad scotch.

She wanted nothing more than a shower and then to die. Not necessarily in that order. She was still in her now completely ruined yellow sheath dress and it was saturated in wine, scotch, blood, spit, and whatever awesome grime she picked up in the holding cell. It was torn and busted at the seams. She felt disgusting and her hair was crispy with dried blood, chicken Marsala and again, whatever grime she had managed to pick up during the previous nights activities. It was beyond gross to think about.

Not that the pains in her head were really conducive her to thinking anyway.

If groans could kill and thoughts maim the person that decided knocking on her door was a good idea would so be six foot under by now.  
There were not words for the effort and resulting pain that Belle experienced as she staggered to her door after it became evident the caller was not going to stop knocking.

She figured it was probably going to be Mary Margaret behind the door and while she appreciated the thought...

"You are not Mary Margaret..." Belle opened her squinting eyes wider at the person on the other side of the door.

Mr. Gold smiled faintly, "No, dearie, I'm afraid not..."

Belle licked her lips and hissed as she aggravated the spit in her lower lip, "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to call me?"

It went to Belle's clearly befuddled state of mind that she didn't immediately notice that Mr. Gold was not in his suit.

"Hey, you're not wearing a suit..." Belle finally commented as she got tired of standing and limped back into the room leaving the door open as the only invitation to Gold to come in. She wasn't feeling much like playing hostess but she wanted to hear what he had to say too badly to go through the effort of sending him away. Despite her horror at her appearance. She hurt too badly to care all that much anyway.

"I am not, I didn't think anyone would be in any shape to be doing business...and you left your cell phone at the sheriffs office, I tried calling you," Mr. Gold went into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

"I took the liberty of retrieving it," he furthered and handed it to her as she curled up in a small, tight ball on the end of her sofa.

"Thank you...you look really nice in jeans by the way," Belle added as an afterthought. He did look good. Today they were light blue and he wore them with an untucked loose fitting white oxford, cuffs turned back. No undershirt, she could see peeks of his chest in the V created by the top button being unone. He looked younger, less severe, and more approachable. He looked a man that would sit with her and go on a picnic.

Belle French liked picnics. Belle French also seemed to be having a hard time focusing. She was blaming the hangover and the maddening view of his quite lovely chest.

"You my dear, I'm afraid look terrible."He laughed softly, un-mockingly when he said it but it still made the overly sensitive, tired, hurting Belle cry.

"I know! And I feel worse!" she sobbed clutching her knees to her chest tighter.

"Oh Belle, I'm sorry, I...I didn't mean...You could never look awful, ever." He gently tucked a ratted clump of hair behind her ear.

Belle sighed raggedly. They had touched so little; every little touch from him sent her body into overload. She was so wholly in love with this man and yet to truly kiss him, she had barely touched him. Innocent brushes of hands, accidently glances that felt as tangible as touch but actually skin against skin? So little between them and how she relished it, it was magic of an indefinable kind. She wanted to lean against his hand that was now pulling away, forever.

"I do though...I really do...I just want a shower and to sleep...but I am happy to see you...and I'm...sorry for how I acted last night," she rushed, tears still falling down her face, making the dirt and other grime run down her face.

Along with what remained of her raccoon eye makeup.

"Oh my dear, dear Belle...you've absolutely nothing in the world to apologize for. If anything I should be begging your forgiveness. It was rather  _my_ ex-wife that was the cause of all the trouble."

Mr. Gold pulled her close to his chest where she settled very comfortably. Or as comfortably as a woman who had been through a fight and was nursing a wicked hangover could be.

"Your ex-wife and David's bad scotch," Belle mumbled against Mr. Gold's very warm and surprisingly muscled chest. It felt even better than it looked, if that were possible.

Said chest rumbled with laughter under her cheek, "Yes, I'm afraid Mr. Nolan's taste in scotch is rather poor...I've a thought I might have to buy him some proper stuff as a way to apologize for some of this mess. Then there is also the added bonus of there being better scotch should I ever again be allowed to step foot on the premises as a guest."

Belle snorted.

"Not that you really had any say in all that mess, I mean other than being married to the woman...but this whole buying up Storybrooke business...you might want to explain that rather quickly before they start coming at you torches and pick-axes."

"Yes...yes, I do believe an explanation is in order. Why don't you shower and I'll whip up something to settle your stomach and we'll talk then, hm?"  
Belle nodded against his chest, "Yeah... Wait," she pulled away to look up at him, "You cook too?"

"Bachelor dearie, I dislike having too many people under foot and do not like eating out...it was learn to cook to starve. I elected to learn to cook. Never mind when I was first starting Baelfire I was more hatchet man for hire than anything and had fired at least one person in all the major fine dining restaurants around my residence. Doesn't make you feel cozy sitting down to eat the food prepared by disgruntled employees."

Belle tried to laugh, but it hurt, so she ended up just nodding.

Mr. Gold stood and offered her both hands to help her stand, "Come now...you'll feel like a new woman after a shower..."

Belle frowned, feeling entirely doubtful but rose with his help and let him lead her to the bathroom.

It wasn't a large apartment by any stretch of the imagination but it was slightly unnerving how well he seemed to fit and how at ease he was. There was no hesitation as he led her to the bathroom, sat her on the toilet and turned to retrieve towels from the linen cubby just outside the door.

"You're awful comfortable in here..." Belle grimaced as she stood and struggled with the short zipper on the back of her dress. Seeing that it was virtually backless it was a tiny, tiny zipper and being as stiff and as sore as she was, she was struggling terribly to get it undone.

"It's just how I am dearie, comfortable no matter where I am...or at least I've the skill to appear that way," Mr. Gold whispered coming up behind her.

Belle shivered as she felt his fingers brush against her back.

"My confident crocodile..." Belle found it hard to breathe as she felt him run

a feather light finger down her spine, it raised gooseflesh on her body and red flush on her cheeks.

"You've no idea..." He found the zipper she had been struggling with and lowered it.

Belle was already feeling a bit faint from the pounding headache and

Mr. Gold's heat and clean overwhelming scent was driving her libido and senses mad. She hunched her shoulders as much to try and hide the shivers he was causing as from the pain in her muscles, her dress fell forward off her shoulders, she held it in place with her hand.

"You're wearing the necklace..." Mr. Gold said softly, Belle detected barely hidden pleasure and a bit of pride.

"I am...it's beautiful, I love it...I don't know that I actually thanked you properly really..." she turned around to face him.

He smiled down at her, lips turned on the side in that crooked little way of his that made Belle's heart break.

Break in the most wonderful possible way.

He started to lean forward and Belle's eyes instantly fluttered closed as she lifted her face, expecting a kiss. When it didn't come and she heard water rushing instead she cracked an eye open.

"Shower...talk...then...then we'll see what we can come up with..." Mr. Gold trailed, pulling back from reaching around her to turn on the shower.

She pouted.

"Slow and right my Belle...slow and right. We'll do this right...and I don't feel right kissing you with secrets and questions still between us."

"Sometimes I kind of almost hate that you're so perfect..."

Mr. Gold laughed, "I'm so far from perfect my dear...I'm just trying really hard to convince you I'm worth taking a chance on."

"Get out, get out, get out! I can't take it! You're perfect!" Belle playful pushed him away before she tackled him, full body pain and throbbing headache be damned, and do unspeakable, improper things to him.

Mr. Gold laughed again and it was a bit unsettling in a way, he was such a different person when he laughed and smiled. The years and worries fell away. She quietly promised herself to do everything in her power to always keep him laughing and smiling. She could be his heart and happiness.

"You need some adhesive ducks for your shower love, you don't want to slip," he said as parting comment.

She huffed and gave him a small push to leave the bathroom.

* * *

Some time later Belle emerged feeling mentally better at the very least and most happily, clean. She was still battered and bruised and fighting a hangover, but being clean helped tremendously. It felt like there may be light (that didn't hurt her head) at the end of tunnel.

"Perfect time...breakfast is ssss..." Mr. Gold turned around at hearing her footsteps and stumbled over his words quite inarticulately.

"My clothes are over there..." Belle, clad only in a short towel wrapped around her pointed to the closet of her loft style apartment.

"Rrrright," Mr. Gold actually stuttered which made Belle grin. She actually flustered the great man.

"It smells incredible..." she decided not to prolong the apparent torment of Mr. Gold and quickly selected under garments and a pair of yoga pants to go with the basic pullover.

"I'll be right out, two minutes."

It took about 90 seconds and Belle was back, seating herself at her small kitchen table across from Mr. Gold and his breakfast offering of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You did not have to go to all this trouble..." Belle smiled despite herself. Her stomach was still trying to decide between being starving and being upset but her mouth was salivating.

"You had pancake mix and whipping up some eggs and frying bacon isn't exactly rocket science, my dear."

She smiled faintly, dishing up her plate, "Well it is still very much appreciate, and very impressive."

Mr. Gold make a sound in the back of his through, a very Scottish thing do Belle thought. It was funny how a small little sound could say so much. She wondered if it was a purely Scots thing. Either way though, Mr. Gold was very good at it.

They ate quietly and sipped perfectly made tea for several minutes before Mr. Gold started to speak.

"I'm not entirely sure where to begin, last night was..." he struggled for words, "In all my life I could have never come with something like that. I'm still processing it actually..."

Belle struggled not to arch an eyebrow in disbelief. To look at him you'd think he didn't fluster at anything. Unshakeable Mr. Gold.

"My boy...he's something, no?" Mr. Gold's face broke out in a huge glorious smile.

Belle easily returned it, his smile was so magnetic, so engaging she couldn't help it. One just really couldn't help smiling when he smiled, it was magic.

"Oh, he certainly is...looks very like his Da, I have to say," she grinned as he lit up again at the sound of the sentimental endearment.

"I haven't tried to get in contact yet, I thought maybe he might need some time to process...and Milah is still in the hospital so I'm sure he's there with her. But I hope to start getting to know him soon."

Belle struggled to keep her face from betraying her, "I...I am so, so sorry about that, about Milah I mean. I really hope we didn't...didn't make Neal leery of you. I mean he won't hold it against..."

"Hush dearie, you're fine. Really. Milah didn't get anything she didn't royally deserve. If I hadn't of been disorientated from it all and behaving like a coward, I would probably have caned her, well if she were a man. I'd never raise a hand to a woman in anger. But it's one of my faults I would do best to confess...I do have a wicked temper when I'm pushed too far. It takes a tremendous amount to get me there but I'm shameful to admit that, especially in my younger years, fighting was a bane for me."

"I appreciate what you said...what you did for me. Standing up for me I mean. I...I find don't really even have words for it actually. You defended me...you were outraged, for me."

Belle felt tears stinging again. He sounded so lost, so completely in awe over the idea that someone would defend him. The very idea that everyone wouldn't be outraged at a woman lying, hiding a man's son from him...and saying those spiteful things enraged Belle. Her heart hurt for the man.

She reached across the table, like she had done times before and gripped his hand, "Mr. Gold...I will  _always_ stand by you. I will always defend you. What she did was wrong. So wrong. So hateful and vengeful and she didn't hurt just you, she hurt Neal. He grew up without his father. No matter what you might have done ...no matter any of that, what she did was wrong. Period. What I did as far as getting into a fight...that was also probably wrong but," she paused to grin and bite her lip, "I'm not really sorry. Sorry for any negative affect to you yes...but not actually sorry for the completely out of character and unladylike brawl."

He smiled at her, "You were rather magnificent my dear, incredibly so."

She giggled blushing. They sat like that for a couple minutes just holding hands and sharing a grin. Belle sobered though.

"There is lots we need to talk about still...but I think first I want to know about you paying off Milah. I am ...conflicted at best about that."

Mr. Gold nodded, "Perhaps you'll be put at ease to know that while getting you, and Mrs. Nolan and Mrs. Hopper out of jail was certainly a great motivating factor it was not the only one. I didn't want this to go further as much because of Neal as anything else."

"While I am not ashamed to say that I despise and loathe Milah with ever fiber of my being she is still Neal's mother and I did not want to distress him further by dragging out sins and putting him through having to defend a woman who is, in my opinion without justifiable defense, simply because she is still his mother."

"The cost of this, of saving Neal, of wiping away, at least of the cost to you for defending me...well it is hardly any cost at all. It was, it is, my greatest pleasure to do it."

Belle bit her lip, "May I ask...is the cost great? It was still my doing that you had to pay it at all."

Mr. Gold gave a hesitant smile, "I am striving to be honest with you, in all matters. There would not be any cost too great for me to pay to achieve what I have, so it's simply a number...nothing more nothing else. But I think that is too broad answer for you isn't?"

Belle shrugged and nodded "Yeah, it's obviously not truly my business, but I would like to know what I cost you because while I understand your motives for wanting it to go away...it was still my actions, my friends defending me that caused the problem in the first place."

Mr. Gold sighed, sounding very long suffering, "I thought you'd think as much. In truth, and I am being honest with this, the timing couldn't have been more apt. I had tied up a great deal of my assets in the purchasing of the properties here. I had no truly liquid assets to liquidate, except I did... I had just put my home in Boston on the market. The Dark Estate has been rather sought after and an offer was made yesterday, which I accepted. That was what was tying me up all day before dinner. Finishing paperwork and arranging for my things to be moved into storage as the new owner wants to take possession immediately."

Belle's heart was pounding rather hard in her chest, "You sold your home?"

"I did. When I went to Boston, I went with a heavy mind and more problems than I really wanted to deal with. I still have a few to sort out but I think I realize quite clearly when a certain woman texted me almost immediately the author of a certain quote I had inquired about... My mind, my life is no longer in Boston. I no longer want that world. I have sold The Dark Estate, I am stepping down as CEO of Baelfire, though I still am majority owner and stockholder. I am giving up all that..."

Belle was starting to feel faint, "Why? I am mean...what are you giving it up for?" she breathed, heart in her throat and stomach in knots.

"A new world...a chance with...with you."


	16. History

He's known this conversation has been coming. He knew that it wouldn't be particularly easy to explain what he's done and why he's done it. He knows he's been out of sorts, even and perhaps especially, in her estimation. If only she knew exactly how out of sorts it truly was.

He's not sure when it happened, it certainly was around the time she had so quickly recognized Ivanhoe - it was one of the of the few things his mother had given him by way of advice in courting women. His mother was the kind to call it courting.

_Never get serious about a woman if she hasn't read Ivanhoe. She doesn't have to like, but she must have at least read it. Always find a girl that reads my dear Roddy, those are the keepers._

He knew so immediately and emphatically that she was 'the one' in those few hours. His True Love. But it had been there before too, moments, glimpses where he realized that his life was no longer just about him. No longer what it had been for the previous decades.

Maybe it was while sitting in that boardroom and realizing if everything was destroyed tomorrow he would miss nothing and he would be alone. No one would miss him. No one would mourn him. His legacy would be a company that destroyed lives. Even if that was a rather bleak observation, even for him.

He thought again of his mother and verse she like to quote to him so often,

_And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?_

The fact was, he had gained the whole world. He had money, he had power, and he had things, so many things. He'd gained everything that the world could offer him.

Except the one thing he didn't know he was missing until he found it in the hands of a shop girl: His very heart and his soul.

Oddly enough though, it wasn't solely Belle French. She had his heart completely but it was too, the entirety of Storybrooke.

It was true that most the people he had met were hostile towards him but it was in part because of that, that he was at ease there. People were honest. They had thoughts about him, not unwarranted thoughts given his reputation, and they had no qualms about expressing them. They weren't falsely kind or kind to him because of who he was and the power he wielded.

They didn't like him and damn well showed it.

He liked that. They were honest and good people. He would change their perceptions a bit, he hoped, as time went by and they could see him in all lights, not just the one where he was throwing a girl they loved out on the streets.

Or buying up their properties, that wasn't such a great way to introduce one's self.

Mr. Gold was trying to think of a way to describe the change he had felt himself go through. Nothing was quite right, nothing fit.

It wasn't a long drawn out, over time, change, but then again it wasn't completely overnight either.

"It is a bit like pulling open curtains that have been nailed over windows...the sunlight is blinding and you can't see anything until your eyes adjust...and when they finally do, well you see everything. Everything you've been missing..."

Belle looked at him appearing confused, "So...I'm the curtains?"

Mr. Gold made a noise in his throat, a noise of frustration. He reminded himself of his father in that moment.

How did he explain it? "No my dear...you are the sunlight."

He watched her eyes widen as understanding dawned.

"Do you believe in true love? Love that is destined, fated...love that defies logical and rules because it is the thing that proves it? Love that is discovered in an instant, defined over time and lasts an eternity?" he was starting to ramble in his earnest.

"I...I do. Of course I do."

"True love is not true love unless it's shared between two..." he trailed off, feeling like he hadn't since he was a young adolescent: unsure, nervous, and terribly vulnerable.

It wasn't that Dougal Roderick Gold had had a traumatic life. In fact he hadn't really. His father had worked on the car factory lines and made a reasonable wage, the family lived mostly comfortably. Until Robert Dougal Gold died of heart attack while working on that factory line when Roderick was but a young lad of 6. His mother and aunt raised him after that.

Roderick, as his mother had always called him, or rather Roddy, (she was never fond of the name Dougal, it had been his father's instance as it was a family name) grew up without a male figure in his life to teach him what it mean to be a good man, a strong man, a person of confidence.

His poor mother was terrified of losing her only child, her son; like she had lost his father and had all but kept him wrapped in cotton.

Roderick resented this, resented the teasing and the fights he got into as a result of being a 'mummy's boy'.

He never realized how much he'd miss his shroud of cotton until the day his mother died. Maybe Roderick resented the sheltered youth he had had, the sheltered youth without the benefit of a father and had compensated, but one thing remained…

Avonlea Rebekah Gold, if nothing else, raised a boy that respected and treated women right. Perhaps she had even instilled in him an awe of women, beings to hold in unparalleled esteem. He wouldn't say he wasn't without his flaws in his manners toward women. He had a tendency to keep things close, to not always share what was on his heart, choosing rather to hope they just understood.

He would admit that with Milah he fell for her beauty, her grace, and her ethereal presence on the ballet stage. Not overly much her personality, her charm or her gentleness of spirit.

He had been young and in a great many ways naïve still about women. It didn't take him too long to see the error of his ways in choosing Milah. If there was anything to be said about Roderick, besides words with four letters and a general feeling of hate and discontent is that he was loyal to fault.

If you had Roderick's friendship, his esteem, or his benevolent indifference, you had it without fail.

In turn, if you had his loathing, his distaste or indifferent dismissal, you had it without fail.

It took practically an act of God to change Roderick Gold's mind once it was set it, this had its good points and it bad.

His unwavering loyalty and sheer stubbornness kept him married to Milah for far longer than he should have.

He was a stubborn man, a vigilant man, and a man that was quite used to working until he got what he wanted.

Somehow though, he was smart enough to know that his usual methods would not succeed in winning over the likes of Belle French.

"Mr. Gold, please...this is all rather confusing me...what are you saying?"

What was he saying? He really didn't know any more.

"Maybe I can better show you? Will you come with me?" He suddenly brightened as he thought this idea might just be the ticket.

Belle looked down at her attire, "I'm not really dressed for an outing."

"Humor me? Please?" he tried not to sound like he was pleading, but the matter was...he was.

Belle sighed, "Very well, let me grab a pullover," she rose from the sofa and went to her wardrobe withdrawing a pullover sweater and her tennis shoes.

Mr. Gold stood from the sofa and waited, fidgeting a bit. He wasn't ever one to fidget. He had gone to great lengths to school his actions, school his emotions. It had taken great efforts to tamp down his tendency to let his Scottish propensity to gesture emphatically and emote grandly. It had been something he had worked on since he was a young man.

He had always thought it was the downfall of many great people. They needed to be showy, to impress with gestures as they conducted conversations. Mr. Gold kept things simple; he dressed simply, though well, and kept his emotions out of his face and hands.

Mostly. Every now and again a titter, a wry tightening of his lips to keep from sneering would creep in, but mostly Mr. Gold was good at indifferent loathing.

Except of course when it came to Belle, there everything about him became rather cloudy. Everything both ceased to make sense and came to stunning clarity.

Mr. Gold watch Belle slip her feet into her trainers and rise with a bright smile, "Okay, show me your master plan my Rumplestiltskin."

Mr. Gold smiled, nodded and taking up his cane, "With pleasure my dear, with pleasure."

* * *

Belle looked at him curiously, "This is the Pink House, growing up everybody believed it was haunted, it wasn't of course...just old. It has belonged to the city for years; they keep trying to put it on the agenda for the council to consider it as a Historical Landmark. It's one of the oldest houses in Storybrooke..."

"I know, it's formal name is  _La Maison d'Or Rose_...it translates to..."

"House of Rose Gold," Belle smiled softly, "I speak a bit of French...my father's side and all," she shrugged looking strangely shy.

Mr. Gold nodded; pleased beyond measure for some strange reason he wasn't at all sure of.

"Of course I did a whole project for my art history class in college on this house... It was built in 1889, the style is predominantly Queen Anne with Beaux-Arts elements...the pink is very classic for the period and hallmark gables... It's a beautiful example of the architecture in America... It could do with a little TLC, but the bones are solid and sure."

"Do you like this house?" Mr. Gold asked, trying desperately not to let his anxiousness for her approval creep in.

"Of course I do. It's the most beautiful home in Storybrooke...it's history is wonderful. It's a beautiful home..." she answered sadly.

"Why do you sound so sad?"

"Oh, I don't mean to! It's just, this is a home that should be loved, it should have a family."

Mr. Gold's heart was speeding up in his chest, he stuttered as he tried to speak, "Maybe...maybe one day it will. Soon."

* * *

Mr. Gold drove his rented Jaguar up through town in companionable silence. He was too nervous to speak as he thought over his plan in his head. Somehow it had seemed much less risky before he had acted.

He parked across the street from the old pawnshop, exited the car and went to open Belle's door.

"For the brief period that I was able to speak with Neal last night..." he paused as he found his smile was so big he was having a hard time speaking, "and he told me about his passion for the law it rekindled in me a passion long forgotten."

"I was quite good at property law, and criminal really...some attributed it to my already suspicious and some say conniving nature, but whatever it is, I am, or I was, good at it and I loved it," Mr. Gold spoke as he led her across to the boarded up pawnshop.

"My goal one day...if fate should find fitting...that I might one day practice law with my...my son. I know he wants to go abroad and see the world...and I want that for him, but I would like to hope, perhaps after he's traveled the world and seen the things there are to see that he'll come back. He'll find me again and we might try to spend the time we didn't get before..." he fiddled with his cane, eyes falling uncharastically to the ground.

"I purchased this building first, before I knew about Neal...It was cheap, and could easily be fixed up as anything...in my mind's eye I think I saw it first back as it was...a pawn shop and perhaps an antique store. My vision has broadened some."

His eyes met Belle's and he smiled, "What do you think? Is it foolish for an old man to dream?"

Belle laughed her magical laugh, "Oh, quite the contrary... you sir, are not old and secondly that is hardly a dream my dear, that is a hope and without hope, what are we? You and your son have a long and happy road ahead, of  _that_  I am sure."

Mr. Gold nodded still having his doubts, offering her his arm, "This is a beautiful town you know...a wonderful tourist trap, or at least it could be. In a good way..." he steered her down the street toward the clock tower.

"I've not been a small town person since I was a boy, even then soon as I was old enough I was off for Inverness and school, doing everything I could to escape the small hometown I grew up in ...by the time I realized a small town was the only place I wanted to be...the big city was the only place that would have me..."

He stepped the boarded up windows of the library under the clock tower, "This," he gestured a single finger with a small flourish he couldn't quite tamp down, "This I bought because it reminded me of my mother...she would have liked this."

Mr. Gold pulled a set of keys from his pocket; selecting one he opened the door with some efforts and elbow grease.

"I have wondered often about a way to remember my mother, a way to do her honor. Nothing had felt right before... Too flashy or too simple. My mother was certainly never one to do with high praise or frivolous gifts, but she was a woman full of grace and warmth...and she would have loved you..." he spoke as he propped the door wider to allow in sunlight.

"Being in your store...it reminded me of her so much. She loved to read, she loved books more than just about anything. The adventures and the dreams... She had wanted to go and discover the great wide somewhere... She would have loved you, so much."

"I...there isn't an easy way to say this," he grew nervous as they stood in the shadowed building, "I can't save your store Belle...I tried, I tried everything. I bought the building, yes. I bought most of the inventory, it's sitting in a warehouse in Boston. I wanted...I wanted to buy it all and give it back to you... I have so much, so much and you... I know you don't, I know that your shop was your life and I wanted to preserve it…but I couldn't."

Mr. Gold's natural propensity for gesturing was coming back to the surface, he stared at her trying to judge her reaction. She was unreadable.

"I can't give you your store…I can't give you the building. I can give you everything in it however. All the books, all the shelves, all your antiques, I just have one request…" he paused.

Belle was looking at him, arms around herself, tears glistening in her eyes.

"This library has been named a historical site and will be forever protected. Nobody will be able to take it, ever. I've made sure. I've set up an endowment for the upkeep and running, a generous trust. As part of that I've setup an apartment for the caretaker for as long as she…or he, would like to take use of it. It's completely independently held, I've no control or say."

"I've named the trust after my mother…and yours. The favor that I'm asking is…will you run this library? Will you be caretaker of this?"


	17. Daydreams

Belle didn’t know what to say. Of course her answer was yes, how could it be anything else? The man just offered her a library...rescued her books and those beautiful bookshelves which were her prized possessions in that store, and was offering her a home. But could she really accept it? This gift laid out in front of her by a man she wanted desperately to love, to be equal with, could she accept it?

“It’s...it’s too much. Mr. Gold, I just...you can’t just give me a library, an apartment...my things. It’s too much!” she finally exclaimed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Mr. Gold frowned, “If I hadn’t of purchased your things you would have lost them. I couldn’t buy just the library. To get the town to agree I had to buy the properties as a group. Apparently all the buildings that I’ve purchased from the respective banks were all in states of foreclosure or pre foreclosure.

“The businesses here are failing. There isn’t enough revenue and money coming into the town to support the apartments, the diner, the library - which is why it’s closed, no funding. The pawnshop has been closed for quite a while I was informed. The funding for the police department has been cut. You lost your store... Storybrooke hasn’t been able to find a mayor, nor does it have the funding to support one.”

“It was the first thing I noticed about the town when I arrived. This place should be booming, especially in the fall. This is a beautiful town, it should be bringing tourists in in droves...” Mr. Gold found himself pacing and gesturing, hand flexing nervously on the handle of his cane.

Belle was silent looking at him, “You bought our town...to save it? Save me?”

Mr. Gold paused, “Yes... and in part to save me too,” he moved to sit in a chair next to her.

“My entire career, the majority of life has been about selling off businesses, downsizing people. I had the chance to save a few...and the woman I’ve come to care for...deeply. I’ve spent every spare moment and I’ve still my best team going over plans and projections and my PR people coming up with proposals to make this town thrive again. If I can destroy, I can also build. My bailout, so to speak will not save this town, it’s just prolonging death. The saving has to come from within... I’ve tied up most my assets in these businesses. My personal fate is tied to this town...I’m invested in it. In you.”

He looked desperately at Belle hoping for her to say something, to break his awkward rambling but she just stared at him wide eyed.

“The library is safe, it’s guarded. I’ve made sure of that... It’s cared for and yours to do with as you decide fit. I haven’t been able to disclose all this to the city yet. My plan is that my team will have a viable blueprint that I can present to the city council and city business owners... The pawnshop is mine though, that was separate. I intend to stay here Belle.”

Belle’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer in her chest, she was struggling for breath, “This, this is a lot Mr. Gold. You seem to be making a habit of knocking me off my feet...” she laughed nervously.

Mr. Gold’s fingers danced anxiously, one hand on his cane, the other on the arm of the chair, “Aye, I suppose. I’ve just had to move quickly, everything has deadlines dearie and I’m afraid even I am subject to them.”

She nodded, “Raising the rent?” she asked softly.

“To appease the banks. Had to show somehow a good faith gesture that I would have ways of paying them their money. I obviously didn’t have enough capital to purchase out right every one of businesses, so I purchased their debt and loans from the bank at a profit to the bank, securing their investment with my capital.”

“That makes sense...” she sounded almost surprised, she looked overwhelmed.

Mr. Gold quirked a grin at her and arched an eyebrow.

“Well! What were we all supposed to think? I mean it is a little shady...” she defended.

He laughed, “I suppose, but it didn’t stop you from trusting me, did it?”

Belle lifted her shoulders, “No, I trusted you then, and I trust you now. It just looked a little shady, really shady actually.”

Mr. Gold laughed again, “Yes, yes it did. But, I hope that after everything can revealed people might be a little less hostile toward me?”

Belle shrugged again, “I wouldn’t hold my breath just yet...but it certainly can’t hurt.”

Mr. Gold looked surprised, until he saw the teasing twinkle in her blue eyes, “Very cute my dear.”

They sat in silence, absorbing the information.

“So...this is really mine?” Belle finally whispered.

Mr. Gold turned to look at her, she was staring into the light that was catching dust particles and making them dance.

“Yes.”

“And you’re staying in Storybrooke?”

“Yes...”

She nodded, still not looking at him.

“Are you going to ask me out?” she finally turned her head, cheeks blushing, a small smile turning the corners of her mouth up.

“Oh, aye. I was thinking about it just now actually. Are you hungry Ms. French?”

“Absolutely famished Mr. Gold, I would fancy a hamburger...with pickles...and mustard. I like mustard with my fries.”

Mr. Gold stood, offering her a hand, “Indeed, condiments are rather magical...”

She grinned, accepting his hand and together they exited the library arm and arm.

* * *

_Three Weeks Later..._

The Storybrooke City Hall was packed; there was barely standing room. The council was seated at their table looking out on the crowd. At one of the two large tables in front of the benches sat Mr. Gold, a stack of glossy papers, a yellow notepad, his briefcase and a banker’s box set neatly beside him.

Much had happened in the three weeks since Mr. Gold had been able to reveal his plan to Belle. For one, Mr. Gold had had to fight Regina Mills to keep control of his company. It didn’t look entirely sane for the CEO of a worldwide company to sell his home, tie up the majority of his assets, which included a large piece of Baelfire, into the purchasing of a large chunk of a small failing Maine city.

Regina had swayed the majority of the board into ousting Mr. Gold with a vote of no confidence, only with sheer tenacity and a bit of the famous Crocodile intimidation did Mr. Gold persuade the board to wait, to hear him out at this Town Hall. True to the agreement the back row of the audience was comprised of the board of Baelfire, all staring at their CEO.

“Mr. Gold, you would address the council?” Sydney Glass, council spokesperson announced after hitting the gavel to bring the session to a start.

“Yes, Spokesperson Glass, I would like to address all of Storybrooke’s residents, if I may,” Mr. Gold brandished a dramatic gesture at the packed room; there was a hint of a smug grin on his face.

Belle watched from the row directly behind Mr. Gold’s table, she was fidgeting nervously. She knew that Mr. Gold’s smug grin and twitches of dramatic gesture were nervous ticks of a sort, his armor against things that he was unsure of, ways to cover the nervousness of his body, she prayed though that the town, the council would be receptive despite it the smugness.

“Proceed Mr. Gold,” Sydney nodded.

“Thank you,” Mr. Gold nodded. He stepped around the table and to the side of the room where he had brought two large display boards; which were currently covered with black cloth, hiding the content beneath.

“As most of you know my name is Mr. Gold, though some of you may know me by my moniker the Crocodile. You may know that I am founder and CEO of Baelfire Consulting. If you know that then you know that my company deals in predominately the restructuring and often downsizing of companies and their employees…”

Belle nervously looked around and tried to hear the mutterings of the crowd. They weren’t very welcoming or understanding mutterings.

“Now, I am sure what you’re thinking is not very good…and I know you’ve heard some rumors…” Mr. Gold went on.

“Let me assure you these rumors are true,” he paused and the room nearly broke out in an uproar of angry protests, “and also untrue.”

The crowded quieted down as they watched Mr. Gold take off the cover of one board.

“I purchased several businesses in Storybrooke, but not to close them, not to put their owners out of work but because I believe in this town. I believe in it’s potential for greatness…” Mr. Gold began to indicate the board.

“Storybrook is a beautiful, charming town that is made up of great, loving and wonderful people. It’s natural beautiful is unparalleled, but also underappreciated,” he motioned to the map where Storybrooke was marked with a red dot, just a few miles off of Maine’s most frequented scenic byway, “Nobody knows where this town is, few have heard of it and because of that can’t enjoy it…can’t grow to love it, as I have in my short stay here…Perhaps most importantly they can’t spend their money here.”

The room had fallen nearly silent as Mr. Gold pointed to the buildings on the board, “Historic buildings, fall foliage, a marina, some of the finest cooking in the state…even if the lasagna is a bit overpriced,” he teased gently and the room snickered while Granny’s cheeks pinked.

“This town has struggled, struggled with a down turning economy, with a changing world, what I am proposing, what I am offering is not to dismantle this town, run you out – as some have suggested,” Mr. Gold’s glance at Sydney wasn’t noticed by anyone but Belle.

“I do not want to do that. I want to preserve everything that is good about this town…and share it with the world. We can make this town thrive again, we can share everything that makes this map dot,” Mr. Gold gestured emphatically to the map, “Special and in turn make it thrive and you thrive, your children thrive…” with no loss of showmanship he twirled the remaining cloth off of the second board.

Beautifully rendered sketches of the town were displayed. The Clock Tower restored and glowing, the doors of the library beneath gleaming.

The apartments were renovated but still quaint and oozed of charm.

A new park was envisioned with fountains and statues. An open market for the artisans would be there on the weekends for tourists and locals alike.

Granny’s had a new sign and the B&B had never looked more welcoming.

Then there was the town sign it’s self. Stylized in an old fashioned manner with swooping lettering and carefully carved angles, the caption simply said, “Step inside a storybook, step amongst fairytales.”

The last sketch was perhaps the most the chilling, the most whispered about. It was the pawnshop, reimagined as the Law Offices of Roderick Gold, the sign blatant and bold.

“I want to invest myself here, I want to see this town succeed. Together we can make Storybrooke everything it can be, we can show this town to a new group of people.”

Mr. Gold had come to the close of his initial presentation and looked quietly at the room.

Belle also looked around, looking for reaction. They weren’t unreceptive it didn’t seem, completely convinced though? She wasn’t sure. She risked a look at the board of Baelfire and they were just as unreadable. She gave Mr. Gold an encouraging smile and a small nod.

“These are grand plans I know, but I believe in this town. I believe in this town like I have in few other things. These are not just lofty, cosmetic or whimsical plans I give you…” Mr. Gold moved back to his table to pick up the stack of papers, which were cost breakdowns, the pubic town budget, the nitty-gritty, as it were.

“These are your numbers, these are the numbers of your town, the budget and the costs for the changes and plans I have proposed. These are also the numbers and the inevitable outcome if you do not get revenue into this this town, quickly. They are not pretty, they are black and white…well, in this case mostly red,” Mr. Gold had to fight down a sardonic snicker as he passed the sheets around.

“This town can generate money, it can secure it’s future but I cannot do it alone, I cannot infuse any more capital into it – you have to save yourselves, but I can help you…”

Mr. Gold turned to the council, “Help me, help you… Can we make a deal council?”

Sydney Glass arched an eyebrow as he accepted the papers.

He didn’t say no.

* * *

The meeting lasted well into the night. The tables were pushed together up against the long table of the council, creating a War Table at Mr. Gold and the board of Baelfire found themselves tearing around the carefully prepared reports that Mr. Gold’s teams had put together. There was salvation in those pages for the town; even those most resistant could see it. Belle was beyond heartened to see the Baelfire board so engrossed in the project, they were a group of affluent business people who couldn’t help be enchanted by the idea of ‘rescuing’ a small town.

The plan was many fold. There was the tourist campaign, the festivals, the promotions and ads. There were the financial prospects and tiered loan systems and interest rates. There were prearranged deals and understandings with banks across the country. There were suspicious owners and stubborn council members.

 Belle was just coming through the doors with another two carriers of coffee and hot cocoa from Granny’s, she paused looking to the tables where at the head facing her stood Mr. Gold. He had shed his suit jacket a long time before, the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows, his tie was gone, probably somewhere with his jacket. The top buttons were undone. He was leaning over the table, hands braced as his face twisted dramatically with whatever he was passionately speaking about. His brogue was easily heard, distinct in the room and she adored hearing it.

Belle felt heat starting to pool into her stomach and it made her toes curl. Her breath was lost as she watched him. He was so magnificent. For a moment she let herself watch and enjoy the show.

He didn’t allow her to enjoy the performance uninterrupted for long though as he seemed to sense her presence even in the crowd and straightened, eyes locking onto hers.

The smile that spread across his face was absolutely glorious. It was joy and perfection and light. If she hadn’t already been in love she would have been then.

She blushed and her eyes dropped as she moved forward offering the cups around, ending with Mr. Gold.

“Thank you sweetheart,” he said quietly as he accepted the cup and brushed her fingers with his.

“You’re welcome…I haven’t seen these before,” she reached out to tap the apparent reading glasses that were slid into the little pocket of his suit vest.

“I seldom need them. I thought tonight might run long…I was right,” he looked at the council locked in heated debated.

“Hm, well, put them on…let me see,” she grinned folding her arms across her chest.

Mr. Gold smirked at her but obliged and slipped the wire frames onto his face, “Happy?”

Belle swallowed hard and leaned close to his ear, “You’ve no idea,” then she kissed his cheek.

He laughed a wonderful, throaty sound and shook his head turning back to the table.

* * *

Belle wasn’t surprised that Mr. Gold was as good as he was rumored to be, not really. There was a confidence, an honest arrogance about the man that you couldn’t help notice upon first seeing him, you couldn’t help but be attracted to in some way. Not in the romantic way, or in her case not only in the romantic way. There was something about a man, a person that was so sure of himself that he walked as if he owned the world, a man that owned the world but didn’t need to flaunt it.

Mr. Gold didn’t flaunt it that was for sure. His reputation of course preceded him, how could it not, she thought back to the day she had first met him, the day he had first entered her shop. All casual arrogance but still, still there was something there, something different. Something more. There were lines of humility and effort and hard work. Understanding and wisdom, there was so much more to this man than so many saw. The more she had come to know him the more right she realized she was.

She could not be more in love with this man, it almost felt crippling, all these feelings she had for him. Watching him interact with Emma, getting to know Neal, fighting for Storybrooke…fighting for her. Standing up to Milah for her, enduring the hostility of her friends because they were her friends. The small, silly texts and the long phone calls they had come to share over the weeks as he split his time between Boston trying to tie up lose ends, and supervising the remodeling of the pawnshop and his many duties here. He had asked her to help him in restoring The Rose Gold House; they were scheduled to begin next week.

She hadn’t ever imagined she could be this happy. From losing her mom, to the problems with her father, the debacle of Rupert, the failure of her store… She was so blissfully happy now, the only thing left, the only piece left out of the puzzle was the council signing off on, and the businesses getting on board with Mr. Gold’s plan for Storybrooke’s salvation. If they could just shore that up, secure that piece…her puzzle of a life would finally feel complete.

* * *

 

“Sweetheart…Belle, Belle love, wake up, it’s time to go…” Mr. Gold’s soft lilt broke through her dream.

“Hm?” she murmured through her haze, sitting up from the bench she had apparently dozed off on.

“You fell asleep, everyone has gone home, come on then…up you go,” he tenderly helped her up, supporting her with an arm around her waist as she scrubbed at her eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said around a wide yawn.

“No worries at all darling, but let’s get you home…” he held her coat up for her to shrug into, even as she was still yawning.

“Did everyone one come to a conclusion?”

Mr. Gold hesitated as he guided her to the front doors, “Yes, yes they did, we’ll be going through with the plans,” he said softly.

“Oh truly?! Roderick that is wonderful!” she exclaimed fully awake now and she turned to throw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

Mr. Gold smiled into her hair as he returned her tight hug, “Yes love, it is…very good indeed.

Belle pulled away slightly so that she could look him in the eyes, search his face, her brow furrowed, “Something is wrong? Why do you sound sad?”

Mr. Gold tipped his head, “Not sad…resigned perhaps? It’s a big undertaking; a lot of lives in my hands…people trusting me. More than a few are questioning if I can follow this through, they wonder if a crocodile can change his spots, such as they are. I still may lose Baelfire, the board is satisfied that I haven’t lost my mind but are considering putting Regina in as operational CEO while I’m tied up here and that sits wrong. Baelfire is my company, but at least I still retain my majority share and control – so long as Storybrooke succeeds… I guess I am just really for the first time realizing I have something very much I don’t want to lose…”

She frowned at him, “You aren’t going to lose Baelfire, Storybrooke is going to flourish. Everything is going to work out…you’ll see,” she smiled at him, lifting her hands to cup his face.

“I believe in you Mr. Gold…and you’re going to be wonderful!”

He shied away a bit, chin dropping as he leaned his cheek into her palm, “Funnily enough, I’m not as worried about losing Baelfire as all that, I mean I don’t want to but it’s not just what worries me. In all of this I’ve been motivated by one thing. I changed everything for one thing and the idea that this one thing is fragile and something I could lose? It scares me. I think tonight I came to think of it more, think of the circumstances that brought us together... I worry that I could lose you and I can’t lose you Belle. All of this? All of this never would have been possible without you.”

“If not for you I never would have come to Storybrooke, I never would have reunited with Neal, never would have known he existed in all likelihood. I never would have changed, never would done a thing differently. I would have continued on just as I was and I would have died, alone and miserable without a truly good thing to my name. Belle, do you have any idea how you’ve saved me?”

“Do you know how you brought air to this drowning man? From the moment I saw you…reading that blasted fairytale book, you inspired something in me. You chipped away the vanity, the selfishness and self-centeredness. You broke away my cold, dark heart and reintroduced me to goodness. You made me want to go back to that best version of myself, that good and pure version that wasn’t so jaded, so bleak and unfeeling toward people and not since my mother have I felt that way… When I think how the fates had to align, how luck and destiny and all that hokum had to be just right for you to come into my life, I realize I’m the luckiest man in the world, but also I’m reminded at how fragile life is and how quickly I could lose it…and I worry,” he sighed.

Belle absorbed his words and swallowed hard. There was much she could attempt to say back, list dramatically thing upon thing to try and reassure him, to prod him out of this moody reflection but she didn’t, she just smiled leaned to kiss his cheek, “Mr. Gold, I love you. We are meant to be, of that I am sure. There is nothing else that you need worry about, I’m here, and I’m not leaving or disappearing. We’ve got the whole rest of our lives to figure everything else out…for now, I think you should take me home as I’m tired and would like curl up by the fire with my very own Beast with Crocodile spots, perhaps you can read me story, I do so love stories…”

Mr. Gold could hardly argue with that and with those few words she had dusted off his melodramatic ruminations and eased his mind. He mayhap be a beast, but he was her beast and he was very okay with that. Arm and arm they left the Storybrooke city hall walking in the encroaching winter moonlight.

They walked silently until Belle stilled him with a hand upon his arm, “Look…” she pointed suddenly to the sky just behind and to the right of the clock tower, “A shooting star…make a wish,” she said hurriedly as the stars winked and dazzled around them.

Mr. Gold looked from the sky to the shinning face of his love, mouth quirked in the half smile she loved, “No need…I’ve got more than I ever dreamed possible right here…” and with that he bent his head and sought a kiss from his True Love.

_**And They Lived Happily Ever After** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so there is the end. There was nods to a few of the latest episodes, the conversation The Millers Daughter and the over priced lasagna comment :) I so enjoyed writing this story and am sad to leave this world but do hope to revisit with perhaps an epilogue or maybe a sequel someday as I do know there are lots of open ended story lines that could be visited again. Thank you so much for reading and hope to see you again too, in another story perhaps!


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